


A 'blank' Child

by tuckedaway



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Catharsis, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Idols, M/M, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Sleepy Cuddles, aka. im sad, but minho doesnt love himself, everyone loves minho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-01-30 08:10:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21425005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuckedaway/pseuds/tuckedaway
Summary: .Minho grows up with put-downs and stinging criticism. He feels insignificant, unloved.These experiences come to haunt him in the present, making him question his self-worth and friendships with the other members..
Relationships: Lee Minho | Lee Know & Everyone, Lee Minho | Lee Know/Everyone
Comments: 17
Kudos: 192





	1. A 'Selfish' Child

**Author's Note:**

> Minho's guilt-laden conscience prompts him to reflect on his friendship with Jisung. His experience tells him that all friendships have an expiration date, and he wonders when that date will come for Jisung and him.
> 
> Feelings of inadequacy and worthlessness lead him to a painful decision.

_Minho can still remember the first time he had been called ‘selfish’._

_He remembers it as clear as day, accompanied by his mother’s exasperated sigh; her hand tugging sharply on the toy robot clutched in his hands, in an effort to hand it back to the other child._

_“Didn’t I tell you to share with the other kids?” She whispered crossly._

_“B-but I found it first.” He had tried to insist._

_“Lee Minho.” She hissed. “Let go. Now.”_

_Her tone indicated there was no room for debate._

_Minho found himself reluctantly letting go of the toy, eyeing it with longing as it was passed into the hands of the whimpering boy across from him. His hand clutched uselessly at the air where the robot once was._

_His mother bowed incessantly to the boy’s parents, as her hands tightened around herself; apologies spilling out of her mouth, red smeared across her cheeks._

_“Please forgive our Minho.” She tilted her head to glare at him. “He is a rather… selfish child. We apologise sincerely.”_

_The other child, partially behind its mother, scoffed and stuck its tongue out before running off to play with its new toy._

_As Minho followed the boy’s movements longingly, his eyes welled up._

_He had been four and a half at the time - young enough not to know the meaning of the word, but old enough to sense his mother’s shame in having to use it._

_His eyes had stayed glued to the robot until his mother dragged him away by his arm._

_It was only a few years later that Minho had come to realise the word’s meaning._

_He had been in second grade and they were learning new vocabulary._

_“Selfish”, the book had read, “a person who cares only about what they want, without regard to others”._

_Minho’s mind flashed back to the memory of the toy robot; the boy approaching him and asking to share, only to subsequently burst out in tears at his refusal. Minho being forced to give the robot away; his hand clutching at thin air, eyes never losing sight of it as it got further and further away from him._

_His mother’s tired voice._

_“Our Minho… He is a rather selfish child.”_

_And he couldn’t help but agree. _

Jisung had come into his life like a whirlwind: loud, rambunctious and entirely unapologetic about it.

When the younger had first introduced himself with a toothy smile and a shy “nice to meet you, Minho-ssi”, Minho had been convinced they would never be friends. Jisung was all sunshine, sweater paws and big laughter, and there was no way Minho, with his curtness, dark circles and sarcastic quips, could fit in with that.

And yet, almost as if sensing that and resolving to prove him wrong, Jisung had become glued to his side almost immediately.

The next day, when Minho had called out that he was going to the convenience store and asked whether anyone would like to join him, Jisung had almost tripped over himself to volunteer.

Before Minho could even blink, the younger had put one shoe on and was struggling with the other, as he was shimmying into his coat; an endearingly large smile on his face.

Minho’s own lips had twitched in amusement, before rapidly morphing into an expression of concern as the younger proceeded to trip on a shoelace and almost face-plant in his enthusiasm.

Without realising it, Minho found himself slotting into a natural friendship with Jisung. They fell into a quiet rhythm; and strangely enough, they seemed to balance each other out.

Jisung was intuitive. Minho really liked that about him. The younger knew when to shower Minho with attention, and when to simply give him space for a while. Sometimes, he had a way of reading Minho better than Minho could read himself, and an uncanny ability to make him smile on even the worst of days.

Minho, on the other hand, found himself becoming a lot more attentive to Jisung. He quickly realised Jisung was like a flower which needed constant care, sunshine and attention to blossom. And although Minho wouldn’t necessarily classify himself as the ‘constant care, sunshine and attention’ type of guy… for Jisung, he could try.

For Jisung, he would try his darned best.

Even if most of the time he feared it wasn’t enough.

After long hours of recording or practicing the latest choreography, it became unspoken agreement for Jisung and Minho to seek each other out. They would find themselves holed up in Minho’s bed, sharing inside-jokes and funny cat videos while recalling the day’s events.

Minho lived for moments like these; curled up next to his best friend, all of his worries seemed to melt away without a trace.

Jisung had the remarkable ability to make him feel alive and on top of the world. He made him feel so important and appreciated; so completely understood.

On one such evening, Minho recalls sharing a particular cat video with Jisung that has them both wheezing from laughter, clutching their stomachs with tears in their eyes.

Laughter with Jisung was nothing short of infectious; a full-body experience.

And as Jisung tires himself out from laughing and settles his head on Minho’s shoulder, wrapping an arm around his waist, irregular breaths on his neck, Minho suddenly doesn’t know what to do with himself. He finds his heart suddenly filling with so much warmth and fondness, a feeling so foreign and raw, that he almost chokes.

“Hyung?”

It is so soft, he almost misses it.

“Yeah, Jisung-ah?” Some of his fondness inevitably leaks into his voice.

“Are you scared?”

“Of what?”

“Of… I don’t know. I just— I was thinking, right?“ Jisung takes a deep breath, and turns to look at Minho properly. All signs of laughter now gone. “What if it’s all meaningless? This— This dream, our songs, our struggles, all of… _this_” Jisung gestures vaguely in the air. “Everything— aren’t you afraid that it’s all meaningless?That we’ll all disappear and at the end of the day, it won’t matter.”

Minho found his mind suddenly going blank.

He gulped, as his stomach began to churn nervously.

Here Jisung was, laying in Minho’s bed, having confided in him, trusting that Minho would lessen the burden somewhat and provide comfort.

And God, did Minho wish he was at least marginally better at this. Because Jisung was staring at him now with his dark, honest eyes, so many emotions swirling just underneath their depths, emotions that Minho couldn’t begin to identify, much less try to abate, and Minho has never felt so _completely and utterly_ _useless_.

Minho finds himself shrinking under Jisung’s gaze, as a sticky feeling of inadequacy licks up his spine.

He lets out a nervous chuckle.

“Sung-ah… that’s not true. I think you should really get some sleep.” He clears his throat. “Seriously, you’re wiped from practice and you’re not thinking straight. Besides, the morning is wiser than the evening, and I think you’ll feel much better then.”

Jisung’s eyes drift off to stare into space, carefully blank.

The silence causes Minho to bite his tongue. Dread fills his lungs.

He is once again reminded of their mismatched characters; of Jisung’s sensitive nature and innate need for emotional comfort, versus Minho’s tendency to distance himself from emotions and attempt to logically ‘solve’ matters of the heart.

Then, his mind is suddenly flooded with all the things he could have said.

Things like how Jisung’s smile lights up entire rooms or how his voice touches the hearts of so many people, including himself. Things like how there is no way in hell Jisung would fade away, because if there was anyone that should go first, it would be Minho. Because Minho, by nature, is the shadow that clings to a corner, while Jisung is meant to burn bright like yellow roman candles exploding across the sky.

Things like how Jisung would _never_ fade away. He was far too special to. 

The small, pitiful words pool at the tip of his tongue, waiting.

But Minho is a coward, an utterly _selfish _coward at that, because before they can overflow and dribble down his chin pathetically, he hesitates for a second; and then it’s too late. The moment is gone and Minho’s missed it, because Jisung is pulling a small, self-deprecating smile and mumbling:

“Mmm, I guess… Sorry about that. Late nights really do bring out the inner Aristotle, huh?”

Minho manages a weak smile, but his hands are cold. There is still something lingering in Jisung’s eyes, troubled and unresolved. He can see it, as clear as day, and he wants nothing more but to reach out and erase it.

He reaches a hand to rest on Jisung’s shoulder, a silent inquiry if everything is okay, but Jisung is shrugging it off and pulling away to settle his head on the pillow.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry.” Jisung answers while stifling a yawn. “Night.”

As Jisung drifts off, Minho is left alone with his thoughts. A lump lodges itself in his throat.

_You’re not good enough. _The chilling thought lingers. _Because in that moment, Jisung could have done so much better than you._

It was during quiet nights like _these_, when Minho would be left alone with his thoughts, that the same feelings of guilt would amplify and draw him under. He couldn’t help but feel like a liability; a burden holding Jisung back from bigger and better things.

At moments like these, he simply wanted to scream: _There is no obligation! This supposed friendship, these memories, even me… none of it is an obligation on you! Live your life surrounded by the people that make you happiest, even if it doesn’t include me._

Yet, Minho feared Jisung was too nice to admit this.

If there was one thing Minho knew for certain, it was that Jisung had a heart three sizes too big. The younger was so pure and utterly convinced he could fix all wrong with the world.

And boy, did Minho want nothing more but to cling onto that optimism; the ugly and selfish part of him suggesting that, perhaps, it won’t hurt to let it rub off on him a little too.

If personal experience has taught Minho one thing, however, it is that all friendships have an expiration date. A point at which people get sick and tired, drift apart and begin to see each other for what they truly are.

Truthfully, when he thinks about himself and Jisung drifting apart, Minho feels inexplicably ill.

As he holds Jisung’s hand in his own at night, and feels its warmth seeping through the cracks in his skin, it terrifies him to see just how much he has allowed himself to grow attached to the younger boy.

Whether it’s during filming or when alone in the dorm, Minho has taken to constantly seeking out Jisung’s company.

Even back to a few days ago, when he had gotten back home from a particularly gruelling dance practice; the dorm had been silent, the members - all asleep. Yet, despite the warm shower and the heavy-duty blanket wrapped around his shoulders, Minho still couldn’t manage to get the chill out of his bones.

Before he knew it, Minho had found himself quietly moseying over to Jisung’s bed. He had hovered for a while, taking in Jisung’s peaceful expression and regular breaths, utter obliviousness to the world… before placing a freezing hand on his cheek.

Jisung startled awake with a quiet yelp, hands swatting blindly in the darkness.

In hindsight, Minho realises he’d probably looked like a spawn of Satan, casually waiting in the dark to reap Jisung’s soul, but-

“…Hyung?”

It seemed Jisung had no problem identifying him.

Before Minho could even open his mouth, Jisung was already moving aside and making space for him in the warm bed. No questions asked.

Wordlessly, Minho slid under the covers and wrapped himself entirely around Jisung, almost purring at the warmth the younger boy enveloped him in. He pressed his cold nose at the juncture just behind Jisung’s ear, as his hand splayed across Jisung’s tummy.

“Jesus Christ, hyung.” Jisung shivered against him, yet still tugged him closer. “Where did you practice at, Antarctica?”

Minho had a snarky reply somewhere handy, he swears he did. However, as his body warmed up and his exhausted muscles finally relaxed, a sudden drowsiness overtook him and rendered him mute. He simply nosed further into the crook of Jisung’s neck and let out a small content sigh.

He felt Jisung’s body shake with a tired laugh. Minho could imagine his eyes scrunching up in the darkness, in that same endearing way they always do, despite the growing dark circles underneath.

Jisung pressed a kiss in his hair.

“Night, hyung.”

And Minho drifted off.

_God, had he been selfishly smothering him the entire time? The same way he did on that night?_

_Did Jisung feel obliged to spend time with him? Confide in him?_

_Or worse, did he simply do it out of pity?_

The unwelcome thoughts rattle about inside Minho’s skull, pouring ice down his spine and denying him sleep for several nights.

But alas, it is not long before Minho begins noticing something even more distressing.

Whenever Jisung would laugh at an inside joke with Chan or swing an arm around Jeongin’s shoulders, a certain jealousy would bubble up and simmer just under Minho’s skin.

He would find his mood dropping suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, earning him puzzled looks from his members when he would fail to return their banter.

In a way, he couldn’t help it. The selfish, terrible part of him wanted to weave its dark tendrils tighter and tighter around Jisung and keep him by his side forever. Because he is a _selfish, selfish, selfish child_…

Yet, Minho also knew full well that he did not own Jisung; nor did he have any entitlement over his time. And the thought of monopolising Jisung’s attention made Minho sick with himself.

So the next time it happened, as Jisung whispered something into Changbin’s ear and they both burst out in laughter, Minho grit his teeth and turned away from the scene.

_Perhaps all the better,_ a voice whispered in his ear, _because Jisung is finally coming to realise you’re not worth his time._

Inevitably, it is during another one of _those_ nights, where the guilt and insecurity of it all threatens to swallow him up whole, that Minho makes the final decision to put some distance between himself and Jisung. He would carefully smother his troubling feelings away, one by one, until there is nothing left. 

His eyes well up traitorously at the thought, as they did all that time ago, when he was four and a half and he had clutched onto the toy robot for dear life. The same feeling of helplessness overtakes him, churning low and painful in his gut.

However, he reminds himself he is not four and a half anymore and Jisung is not a toy robot.

And while Minho knows he is still the same selfish child at heart, this time he has no excuse.

This time, he needs to let go.

For Jisung’s sake.

Minho buries his head in his pillow, where Jisung had laid just a few nights ago, and swallows down the salt from his tears.

He tosses and turns that night. Sleep does not come easy.

Then he blinks and suddenly his alarm clock is blaring in his ear and Woojin is shouting “Get up, kids!” down the hallway.

Minho feels numb.

The next day, Jisung barges into his room without knocking. It startles the living daylights out of Minho.

“Hyung, wanna go to the convenience store with me? Woojin-hyung said he needs some vegetables for the stew.”

Minho’s heart thumps heavy in his chest. By habit, he almost finds himself agreeing to the invitation without a second thought. However, he dutifully reminds himself of his promise from yesterday night, catching himself before he can agree.

“Well?” Jisung asks, tearing him away from his thoughts. “What do you say? We can pick up some M&Ms and pelt Changbin in his sleep. It’ll be fun!”

Minho finds himself unable to look at him, despite almost _feeling_ the younger’s smile light up the room.He takes a deep breath.

“No.” He says without lifting his head from his phone screen, almost wincing at how abrupt and cold it sounds. “I’m tired.” He adds for good measure.

Minho fights the urge to fidget at the pause that follows as he feels Jisung’s slightly puzzled gaze on him. The guilt weighs on him like lead.

Nevertheless, the younger boy puts on what Minho can imagine is an understanding smile.

“A-ah, that’s okay hyung. I’ll go ask someone else instead.”

He turns to go, shouting an upbeat “Rest well, hyung!” before shutting the door after himself.

“Thanks.” Minho’s voice is so small, he’s unsure whether the younger even hears it.

He replays the short exchange in his head.

_I’ll go ask someone else instead._ The words hurt more than Minho would like to admit because they mean he is replaceable.

Nevertheless, he refuses to tear his eyes away from the phone screen, even if it is not in focus anymore. He grits his teeth.

_Stop being selfish._ _It’s okay_, he assures himself. _At least Jisung can find better company this way._

Yet, somehow, he feels much lonelier than he did ten minutes ago.

And so, Minho begins slowly putting distance between himself and Jisung.

At times, it is unbearable.

When the group is streaming on V-Live, Minho has to consciously remind himself to sit as far away from Jisung as possible. But during TV shows, where the seating order is pre-determined, and Minho somehow always finds himself seated next to Jisung, he has to fight with every fibre in his body to stop himself from reaching out and taking Jisung’s hand in his.

Jisung himself does not make it any easier either (_because why would he? _Minho laments fondly).

Every time Minho takes a step back, Jisung is already taking two forward. The boy consistently seeks him out during V-Lives, with his constant gaze, little touches and playful manoeuvres especially designed to catch Minho’s undivided attention; or similarly, during fan-signs, with Jisung showing him various toys and knick-knacks left by fans, adding playful ad-libs to his parts of the song and shooting him occasional infectious smiles.

Constant little reminders that he is by Minho’s side, unwavering.

It takes a gargantuan effort on Minho’s part to ignore the boy and take himself out of these situations.

He pretends not to notice Jisung’s hurt, the furrow in his brow or the questions in his eyes, and instead reminds himself that he is in no way unique.

Jisung treats all members in the same affectionate way. Minho is not special.

With time, though, it becomes somewhat easier.

As the team begins practicing new choreography for their comeback, Minho is almost relieved to have a plausible explanation for avoiding Jisung’s company. He finds himself opting to stay back at the studio later and later into the night, polishing away at the same moves until the point of passing out.

A part of him acknowledges that he is a coward; that he is simply using the choreography as an excuse not to have to go back home. But at the same time, it feels so nice to let go for once and focus on something else other than the icy loneliness pooling inside his chest.

On one such evening, as the clock ticks past ten thirty and the choreographer ends the dance practice with a satisfied hum, the group begins packing up to go home.

Minho follows his bandmates almost mechanically and begins putting his things away. He takes note of the ache in his muscles and the exhaustion sitting heavy in his bones, yet one look at Jisung, who is laughing away with Felix and Changbin, has his hands stilling over his backpack.

He makes a snap decision and turns to go to the restroom. He taps Chan’s shoulder on the way out and tells him not to wait up.

He is out the door before he can hear his response.

In the restroom, Minho splashes cold water on his face. The sensation shocks the breath out of his chest, banishing Jisung’s laughter out of his mind.

When he is sure the corridors are empty, he ventures out to buy a coffee from the vending machine.

As he walks back into the practice room, it is quiet and vacant.

_Thank God. _Minho sighs in relief. 

He strides across the room to press play… before nearly being scared out of his skin by a warm hand on his shoulder.

“Hey.”

Minho shrieks, joints locking in terror, and as he spins around to face the owner of the hand, scalding coffee spills all over his left hand.

However, in his shock, Minho forgets to hiss at the pain because _Jisung is there. _He is there, right in front of him, and now his eyes are blown wide and lips parted into an ‘o’ shape, as words of panicked concern tumble out of his mouth at a rapid pace. His hands fly over Minho’s to take the disposable cup away, using his sleeves to dry up the remaining liquid.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god…” He keeps chanting throughout, breath coming in quick sharp gasps. But Minho can’t even bring himself to care about the pain because _Jisung is there_, and Minho hasn’t spoken to him in weeks, and now, his sole, undivided attention is on him and him alone.

The telltale _selfish, selfish, selfish_ rings in his ears like a mantra, but he tunes it out.

Minho briefly wonders if he is dreaming. And in his daze, it takes him a while to realise that Jisung is holding his non-injured hand, leading him away from the practice room.

They enter the restroom and Jisung is as pale as a sheet. He turns the cold water faucet on to the fullest, bringing Minho’s hand under the stream, and little droplets spray on their clothes and faces, making Jisung squint.

Minho barely notices.

He is too busy basking in Jisung’s presence, his anxious expression, his trembling form; all because of him, all for him.

_It’s strange_, he thinks. For Minho has never felt so utterly starved for anybody’s attention before. Not like this.

After a few minutes, Jisung turns off the tap and pats Minho’s hand dry with a paper towel. Then, he lifts it closer to his face to inspect the pink flesh. He cradles Minho’s hand so tenderly and carefully, it makes Minho want to shrink into himself and disappear.

Yet the look of pure concentration on Jisung’s face has the corners of Minho’s lips lifting.

“So, what’s the verdict, doctor? Will I live?” Minho asks. 

Jisung purses his lips, humming playfully.

“Perhaps…” Then he lifts his gaze, looking straight into Minho’s eyes with a small stressed smile, “I’ll have keep you under constant supervision to make sure.”

Minho’s toes curl from giddiness. He is floating on a cloud, almost drunk from happiness.

Jisung’s undivided attention is on him and him alone, and it feels so _good_.

Yet, in a split second, Minho watches as Jisung’s playful expression gets replaced by careful seriousness. The abrupt switch unsettles him.

Then—

“Hyung, you’ve been kind of distant lately. Is everything good?”

Minho stills, all signs of teasing gone and replaced by a chill running through his body. The question catches him completely off guard, a sudden fear overtaking and rendering him speechless.

But Jisung waits patiently, he always does. His warm hand lifts to gently ghost over Minho’s cold, sensitive skin and it makes Minho shiver and look down, drawing in a breath.

Jisung tightens his grip over Minho’s hand.

“Hyung… Talk to me.”

Minho knows this is merely an expression Jisung’s protectiveness, but after weeks of almost no contact, the closeness suddenly makes this all way too raw. Way too intimate.

“… Please?”

Minho’s head spins.

Jisung’s gaze is burning into his skin, so much more painfully than the coffee ever could, and Minho finds himself unable to tear his gaze away. He feels completely naked and vulnerable in Jisung’s eyes, and all he wants to do is yank his hand and run away.

_But to where?_

The silence hangs. Minho closes his eyes as he feels the walls of the bathroom begin to close in on him.

But it’s no use because now Jisung is moving closer and closer, murmuring something low in his throat, his breath washing over Minho’s face, the vibrations of his voice travelling down Minho’s fragile spine.

A hand keeps caressing his burnt sensitive flesh as another moves to ghost over his forehead and check for a fever. All because Jisung is kind and understanding, and ever so gentle. Because he senses Minho is like a frightened animal - vulnerable, backed in a corner - and he doesn’t want to overwhelm him.

Yet the sensations and emotions he evokes continue washing over Minho relentlessly, accumulating and pressing into the small space right between his lungs, next to his already-bruised heart until he can’t breathe.

He can’t breathe.

Cannot. Breathe.

“Minho-hyung, your hand…It still hurts, doesn’t it?”

_Selfish._

“Are you feeling dizzy? You’ve been practising way too hard lately.”

_You haven’t changed one bit._

“Tell me, should I take you to the nurse? Or bring you home?”

_You don’t deserve this._

“Or maybe—”

_Run away. Now!_

“No no no, Jisung-ah!” Minho manages somehow, forcing a breathless smile.

With another deep breath, he’s facing Jisung’s anxious expression. “Don’t worry,everything is good. Hyung is just very tired.”

From Jisung’s frown, Minho can tell he doesn’t seem very convinced. There are still so many questions swimming in the depths of his pupils, questions which Minho doesn’t intend to answer.

Minho needs to run; get as far away from him as possible.

He continues.

“I still have more choreography to practice now, so I need to go. You should head home and rest.”

Minho begins pulling away, but Jisung scrambles to hold onto his hand.

“B-but you need to rest too.”

“I’m fine. I had coffee.”

“And your hand is—“

“It doesn’t hurt anymore. Look, Doctor Han tended to all of my wounds.”

With a reluctant huff, Jisung lets him go. He knows better than to push. Minho flashes him what he hopes is a reassuring smile, before turning on his heel. As he is about to leave, however, he feels a hand hesitantly tug on the hem of his shirt.

“Hyung… what happened back there— you know you can always talk to me if you ever need to, right?”

Minho pauses.

“Of course, ‘Sung.”

“I’ll wait up for you.” Jisung tries.

“Don’t.” Minho cuts.

“But hyung—”

“Good night!”

And the door is left swinging behind Minho.

That evening, Minho comes home to Jisung fast-asleep on the couch. The heaviness grows inside his chest.

He takes a nearby blanket, pulling it over Jisung’s curled-up form, and his heart cracks a little as Jisung pulls it closer, shivering.

The next morning, Jisung wakes up alone on the couch with a crick in his neck.

Neither boy brings last night up.

A few days later, Jisung, Hyunjin and Changbin are making plans to go out to dinner and during dance practice, Changbin drops a hint that Minho can come too.

Almost immediately, it strikes Minho that Jisung hadn’t mentioned it at all to him. It’s a stupid thought, especially when he is the one responsible for avoiding Jisung in the first place. And it should hardly be surprising at this stage, but the thought still sticks in his mind like a thorn.

_He’s finding better company. You’re replaceable._

Minho refuses Changbin’s invitation, making up an excuse that he is busy. Yet the pressure inside his chest builds and builds, until it is almost impossible to bear.

After practice, as the boys buzz with the anticipation of a night out, Minho finds himself feeling so miserable and alone, it permeates into his bones. The thought of going back to the dorm makes him sick with dread too.

So instead, he excuses himself from the group and beelines for the gym.

It is late autumn in Seoul. The weather is rather commensurate with his emotions: dark angry cumulous clouds gather into the sky, with the promise of rain.

Minho stretches briefly, then steps onto the treadmill.

Images of the three boys at dinner, having the time of their life without him filter through his head. Their laughter rings painfully loud in his ears, almost as if they are right next to him.

_You’re replaceable_, the voices mock._ Oh so replaceable._

Minho shakes his head and picks up the pace.

He jogs and jogs and jogs, until his mind becomes numb and all he can feel is his breath stuttering in and out of his lungs. His muscles continue moving as the seconds turn into minutes, and minutes into hours.

He continues running.

Yet he can never quite manage to run away from the sadness inside his gut.

That evening, when Minho makes it back to the dorm, he is too tired to think.

As he wearily opens the door to his room, he is relieved to see it is completely dark. He sighs before quietly settling under the covers of his bed.

As he is about to drift off, however, he hears the door of his bedroom creak open and light footsteps pad their way over to his bed.

_No way in hell_, he thinks as he recognises the steady breaths of the person now standing over his bed. Life must be playing a giant joke on him and in his delirious state, he almost laughs.

He idly wonders whether he should pretend to be asleep, because he really can’t deal with this right now, but—

“I know you’re not sleeping, hyung. Move over.”

_Welp, there goes that masterplan._

Wordlessly, Minho shifts over to make space. He watches in the darkness as Jisung climbs into his bed with a sigh, settling a warm hand over his heart.

Minho stays impossibly still and lets Jisung’s presence wash over him, as Jisung recalls his day’s adventures with Hyunjin and Changbin. He feels Jisung’s laughter vibrating through him as he recalls how Changbin had managed to spill his lemonade all over himself at the restaurant, and how he had looked like he had pissed himself for the rest of the night. And he notes Jisung’s wistfulness at how it all had to end so soon, as they had gotten completely soaked in the rain afterwards.

All the while, Minho’s thoughts race a thousand miles an hour again because _this is it_; he was right and Jisung had replaced him already.

Suddenly, the sadness he had spent the whole evening trying to run away from was all right there in front of him, taunting him.

_But isn’t this what you wanted all along? _The voices sing.

And it makes Minho want to scream.

It is right then, however, that he feels Jisung sigh and snuggle closer to his chest, uttering: “It would’ve been so much more fun if you had been there. Please come with us next time, hyung.”

A pause.

Minho’s breath hitches.

Then his eyes are welling up. His world swims. He desperately tries not to hang his heart onto these few words, which were probably uttered as an afterthought. But he’s _selfish, selfish, selfish_ and he wants to believe that he is still somewhat necessary.

Jisung seems to realise Minho is shaking and pulls back to look at him in the darkness.

“Hey, are you okay?” He whispers. His hand taps the place right above his heart and Minho is sure he can probably feel it beating out of his chest.

Minho clears his throat.  
  
“I’m fine.” Yet, his voice breaks in the most embarrassing way. “Just tired, I promise. I’m glad you had fun, ‘Sung-ah.”

Minho can feel Jisung’s concerned gaze on him, the warmth radiating from the hand on his heart, and everything hurts. He is infinitely grateful it’s dark so Jisung cannot see him in this state.

“I’m worried about you, hyung.”

“Don’t be. It’s not serious.”

“But hyung, you’re shaking—“

“Sung-ah, please. Not now.”

A stony silence follows. Jisung’s gaze remains steadfast on Minho, unrelenting, while Minho’s heart knocks against his ribs. He is hurting Jisung, pushing him away without giving him good reason, and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Alright.” Jisung sighs.

Then adds—

“…But you can’t run away forever, hyung.”

Minho’s breath catches in his throat as Jisung wastes no time pulling his head into his chest, tangling their legs together. He grips him tightly, in a way that promises _this conversation is not over_.

A sudden urge begins to pool inside Minho’s chest; an urge to just come clean and confess everything to Jisung right then and there. To confide in Jisung about his insecurities, his fears, and his ever-increasing attachment to him; to burden him with the onerous task of holding his jagged pieces together.

The words weigh heavy on Minho’s tongue, but a single stray thought of _selfish _has them never making it out.

“What is going on in that head of yours, hyung?” Minho hears Jisung sigh to himself. Then, he feels Jisung’s fingers running through his hair, massaging his scalp, scratching his neck, causing little goosebumps to travel across his skin.

Sleep is a fitful affair.

Minho wakes up with Jisung’s arms around his shoulders, Jisung’s leg over his belly, and soft breaths on his neck. He is entirely entangled in him, and while Minho’s generally not much of a hugger, right now he never wants to leave.

Sunlight streams through the cracks in the blinds, uninterrupted. It is a day without schedules - a day without rush - and apart from Jisung and himself, the room is delightfully empty.

After allowing himself a few moments, Minho begins peeling himself away slowly, tentatively careful not to wake Jisung up. He feels each individual vertebrae unsticking from the warm mattress as he sits up.

Then, he turns and stares at his sleeping friend like a small, shiny, unattainable pebble at the bottom of a deep well. His eyes trace over him, suddenly stinging; mapping out the lines of his face, soft with sleep, committing them to memory.

But then, Jisung is opening his eyes.

Minho watches dumbly as they flutter and take a while to focus on him, but when they finally do, recognition flickers within them and he is startled to see them fill with something very much akin to fondness.

Very much akin to love.

And it makes Minho want to disappear.

He pulls back, his first instinct telling him to run. But Jisung grabs his wrist.

“Don’t.”

Minho clears his throat; tries to blink the moisture away.

“Jisung, let go.”

“No.” Jisung swallows, sitting up. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on. But you’re drifting away, hyung. You’re changing… and I’m afraid that if you go now, something big will change once and for all between us. And I won’t know how to fix it.”

Every bone in Minho stills.

“Am I wrong, hyung? Tell me…” Jisung pauses, troubled eyes searching Minho’s face. “…I’m right, aren’t I?”

Minho shakes his head weakly, unable to meet his eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

But Jisung is sitting up now, fully alert, taking Minho’s hands in his. A new fire alight in his eyes.

“What’s going on, hyung? Are you hurt in any way? Do you feel sick?”

“Stop it Jisung, I’m fine.“

“Is it something I did? That upset you?”

“No, wait-“

“You know you don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings, hyung. Just tell me, please!”

“Han Jisung. Stop.”

“No, just tell me and I’ll fix—“

“Just stop it!” Minho screams.

Jisung freezes, eyes wide and unfocused. Minho uses this moment to forcefully yank his hands away, taking a few steps back. He is shaking, breathing raggedly; his eyes - glassy and terrified. A whole two steps away from falling apart.

Jisung blinks, as the fog finally clears, and he seems to truly take in Minho’s current state.

A hesitant “… Hyung?” slips from his lips.

_It’s now or never, Minho._

“We can’t be friends anymore.” The words are out of his mouth before he can think twice.

“W-what?”

“You and me, Jisung… We can’t be friends anymore.”

The silence that follows is awful.

Jisung is properly stunned. Minho watches as his mouth flaps open and closed like a fish out of water.

Then, he continues while he still has the courage to.

“Jisung… I’m no good of a friend to you. You deserve someone so much better, someone so much more understanding than I am. Someone who isn’t as destructive and weak and—“ He takes a shaky breath. “—and _so utterly_ _selfish_.Because that’s all I am. Selfish. And I’m not good enough to fill that role.”

Minho twists his hands in agitation.

“You deserve someone who can make you happy.” He swallows bitterly. “I’m sorry. So so sorry. But this is for the best. For your own good, Sung-ah…”

Silence stretches on and Minho feels sick.

Jisung struggles for words for a few seconds, as a full spectrum of emotions play across his face.

Then, his expression turns resolute. He takes a deep breath. Then, he looks Minho dead straight in the eyes.

“Bullshit.”

Minho chokes. “E-excuse me?”

“You heard me. Bullshit.”

“Where is this coming from? Because I don't understand.”

“Oh, I’ll tell you where this is coming from.” Jisung clenches his teeth. “Did you know how much thatwould hurt? Your best friend avoiding you, not wanting to breathe the same air as you?”

“Jisung-ah, please—“

“…Unwilling to even look at you. All because he’s somehow deluded himself into thinking he’s _selfish_?!”

“But it was for your own good—“

“Oh _for goodness’ sake_ Lee Minho, don’t.”

Minho winces. The words die at his lips.

His eyes glaze over helplessly. _ Why did everything he try to say come out so wrong?_

“I’m sorry.” He finds himself whispering. 

Jisung sighs in frustration, rubbing a hand across his face.

“Don't-- ugh! You know what, hyung…” He takes a step forward. Then another. “You’re right. You _are_ selfish. Selfish for ignoring me for an entire month. For deciding to cut all ties with me all by yourself, without even asking how I’d feel…”

_It’s all true._

“… You’re selfish for keeping this burden all to yourself and for not sharing it with me.”

_Yes._

“… For taking all the blame for things that are not your fault in the slightest.”

… _Huh?_

“… And for punishing yourself relentlessly for things you cannot change.”

_Wait, what?!_

“… But most of all, you’re _so incredibly_ _selfish_ for not realising how important you are - both to me and to the world.”

Jisung takes a deep breath, steeling his gaze directly on Minho. “But regardless of it all, hyung, you’re my friend; my best friend, my teammate, my _soulmate_. And I’m not letting you run away from me again.”

With that, the air completely leaves Minho’s lungs.

His eyes slowly drift over Jisung’s flushed face, wild indignant gaze, and he opens his mouth to say something - anything - to rebut this. But then, all of a sudden he gets transported back in time, he is staring at his mother’s flushed, disappointed face, he is four and a half and so so thoroughly ashamed of himself.

Then, his mother is taking more steps towards him. Closing the distance. Raising her hand--

His breath hitches.

Then, suddenly Minho is sobbing uncontrollably. Inconsolably. (The same way his mother would cry secretly at night because she did not want him as a child.)

He wraps his arms around himself securely, almost as if to hold himself together. (The same way his mother would when he embarrassed her in front of the other parents.)

And he loses complete control.

Because suddenly, it all hurts way too much. It all cuts way too deep for him to handle.

He says he is sorry. He repeats it. Repeats it again for good measure, until it becomes ingrained like a mantra that he chants under his breath; apologising for his existence.

He chokes on the words, even as he feels Jisung embrace him tightly, breathing his name into his hair, hands rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“Shh, Minho-hyung,” Jisung whispers. “It’s okay. We’ll figure it out bit by bit. We always do.”

His presence anchors Minho to the Earth.

He clutches tighter, but otherwise stays silent; his sobs the only thing filling the room.

The walls he had been building around himself painstakingly, brick-by-brick, begin crumbling down.

Somewhere along the way, tears fall down Jisung’s cheeks too.

He can’t help it. His heart shatters for his friend. Although he knew Minho was the type to bottle it all up, he had never imagined he would see him like this.

Jisung wonders for how long Minho must have shouldered this burden all by himself; how long he must have been hurting for.

Somewhere along the way, yet another tear slips. 

At one point, Minho loses all sense of time and place. He is so far gone that all of it stops mattering.

Only fear grips his heart. Fear that Jisung will push him away, say that he’s had enough, sneer at his pathetic state and leave.

But that never happens. Jisung stays by his side throughout, wiping his tears with a sleeve, murmuring sweet words in his hair; sometimes lifting a hand to wipe at his own face, before returning it to rub at his back.

Minho’s heart continually aches with unspoken gratitude.

Eventually, when he finally regains awareness again, Jisung’s shirt is covered in sizeable wet patches and his chest hurts from constricting too much.

As he tires himself out and his sobs turn into hiccups, Minho’s legs are so weak that he is more-so leaning on Jisung rather than standing up on his own. His heart feels so empty and light; he feels like a waste of skin.

Jisung senses his tiredness and gently coaxes him to bed. And as they lie down together, and Minho feels Jisung pressing countless little successive kisses in his hair, a familiar fondness begins seeping through his bones.

A phantom sob has his chest constricting and Jisung’s hands tightening that little bit more around his ribcage. Minho’s hands come to fist in Jisung’s damp shirt, finding security in his friend’s embrace.

The fatigue takes over and his eyes begin drifting shut.

But before he succumbs to sleep, he manages a final—

“Sung-ah?”

“Mmm?”

“Promise you won’t go?”

“I'm not going anywhere… As long as hyung promises not to run away too.”

“Hyung won’t run away.”

“Good.” Jisung chuckles Minho’s favourite laugh, the one he’s missed hearing so much. “Now sleep, hyung.”

His hand comes up under Minho’s shirt to gently trace the line of his spine. It makes Minho shiver, letting out a sigh of contentment.

Sleep draws him under soon afterwards.

It’s one of _those_ nights again.

Where Minho wakes up in a cold sweat and cannot manage to calm his racing heart.

In the quiet of the night, as Minho is left alone with his thoughts, feelings of guilt and worthlessness slowly begin to lick up his spine again.

_Selfish…_ The voices hiss._ Oh so selfish…_

Yet, despite the growing lump in his throat and the churning of his stomach, Minho’s attention is torn away by a small movement.

He feels Jisung shift beside him, letting out a small yawn. His warm hand finds Minho’s cold one in the dark and laces their fingers together, letting the warmth radiate and seep into the cracks of Minho’s skin.

It is one of _those_ nights again; but instead, Minho finds himself resolving:

_I won’t run away anymore._

And draws Jisung closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING~
> 
> COME CRY WITH ME OVER STRAY KIDS ON TUMBLR - safertuckedaway
> 
> also, a few things:
> 
> 1\. each chapter will be dedicated to one member's relationship with minho.
> 
> 2\. this chapter was meant to be 2k tops... but I'm trash for minsung and i was sad, so i blinked and suddenly it became 7k+ hah. most chapters will be a bit shorter than this (unless i get all up in my feels again *cough*).
> 
> 3\. i'm just as emotionally-constipated as minho is in this story, so writing dialogue and emotions was a CHALLENGE HELP
> 
> 4\. finally, i debated for a really long time whether these chapters should have a resolution (a happy ending), or whether i should stop writing at the part where it gets really bad for minho. stylistically and emotionally, it would have been much easier to leave the chapters open-ended and to leave minho (and myself) miserable. but then, i realised i could use this story as a way to heal; a catharsis of sorts. SO HERE WE ARE
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! T.T


	2. An 'Odd' Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When they first meet, Jeongin comes to idolise Minho.
> 
> However, as time passes and Jeongin gets to know his seemingly-perfect hyung, he notices that Minho can be a little… odd at times. Little does Jeongin know that this is an insecurity Minho has been struggling with since early childhood.
> 
> Unfortunately, a little slip up from Seungmin is all it takes for Minho to unravel at the seams and suddenly the distance between Jeongin and Minho is growing, with Minho closing himself off almost entirely from the rest of the group.

_Silence._

_Anticipation._

_Minho’s heart skipped a beat. _

_Finally, it was his turn for Show & Tell._

_As he made his way up to the front of his class, he patted his pocket, checking for his prized possession. Looking out to the crowd, he counted one teacher and fifteen preschoolers; full attendance._

_Good._

_Everyone needed to see this._

_As Minho turned to the class, he took out a little glass jar from his pocket. He smiled at his classmates, who craned their necks forward in anticipation, before unscrewing the lid… and setting a flurry of firebugs free._

_“Hi everyone, these are my new frien—“ Was all he managed to say before all hell broke loose._

_“LEE MINHO, YOU CANNOT BRING INSECTS TO SCHOOL!”_

_Minho remembers discovering them in the school yard. It had been his first day of preschool and he had felt incredibly odd and lonely because none of the other kids had wanted to play with him._

_As he had gone to sit by the edge of the yard, at the roots of the tall chestnut tree, something small and red caught his eye. As he drew closer, he realised it was a multitude of small red things — a colony of firebugs; their patterned coats making them look like little surprised faces scurrying about the tree roots._

_Minho had spent the entire lunchtime watching the little bugs feed on mossy patches and crawl around the tree bark. All thoughts of loneliness long forgotten._

_Thrilled and fascinated, he knew he had to share his discovery with the class._

_However, as the cacophony of his classmates’ hysterical screams pierced his ears, Minho realised this might have been a mistake…_

When Jeongin first met Minho, he was intimidated to say the least.

It had been an early afternoon. Jeongin had been in the practice room, surrounded by the rest of the group, when Chan had brought Minho in to introduce him.

Jeongin took one look at the new mystery trainee and immediately averted his gaze to the ground.

He found Minho oddly… daunting.

With his confidence, sharp expression and considerable past experience performing on stage, Minho seemed flawless, untouchable; like someone who had the world all figured out.

And as he eyed Jeongin with an aloof expression, Jeongin found a sudden unexplainable urge to impress overtaking him.

As they were being introduced to each other, Jeongin remembers making a deep 90-degree bow; praying that his voice wouldn’t crack in the few seconds that it took to utter his name.

_“Yang Jeongin.”_

_What a cliched name._ A small, insecure part of him could almost picture Minho scoffing in disinterest.

However, his fear never materialised; because as he drew up, what he did not expect was to see the hard lines of Minho’s face soften and suddenly give way to a small, crooked smile. An almost shy “Hi Jeongin, I’m Minho.” being uttered following a similar bow.

Jeongin was shocked.

Involuntarily, a small reciprocal smile inched its way onto his face.

“Good,” Chan said with a smile. “I hope we can all get along.”

And although Jeongin was somewhat perplexed by the living contradiction that was Minho, he was sure of one thing: Minho was a cool hyung that Jeongin really wanted to be acknowledged by.

For the first few weeks, Jeongin becomes consumed by a sudden unexplainable urge to impress Minho; to be acknowledged by him.

His hyung is so far ahead in terms of dancing ability, and Jeongin thinks that being acknowledged by someone like him would somehow get him just that bit closer to understanding him, and ultimately, befriending him.

Jeongin finds himself showing up earlier for dance practice and leaving later than the others. He does his very best to get ahead of the group and catch Minho’s attention.

And he finds it feels _so good_ to be acknowledged.

Jeongin cannot ignore the rush of giddiness he gets when he feels Minho’s careful eyes on him through the mirror. His ears burn as he meticulously executes each move with precision under Minho’s detailed gaze.

Then, when he finishes, and he manages to look back fast enough to catch Minho’s curt nod of approval, it fills him with such elation, such unrivalled pride, that he cannot sit still for the rest of the day.

However, Jeongin reluctantly admits he doesn’t always get it right. Because there are also times where no matter how much he works and no matter how hard he strains himself, he still cannot get the moves down.

It is one such evening in late October. The whole group is in the practice room, learning the new choreography and Jeongin finds himself struggling with the same sequence of moves for the past hour.

He takes a deep breath. Then tries again, but his arms tangle.

And again - but now his feet cannot keep up.

And again.

But no dice, as he trips and barely saves himself from falling.

Jeongin bites his lip painfully.

At moments like these, sweat flowing from his brow and tired limbs buckling from under him, Jeongin’s self-confidence plummets. Hard.

It’s a tough life when your entire sense of self worth is built on whether you perform well.

Jeongin is utterly ashamed of himself, and he is sure Minho notices, because his hyung is observant and perfect and Jeongin feels like the blackhole of the team; and as Jeongin screws up for the _nth_ time, he can feel his hyung’s gaze on him through the mirrors and he finds himself shrinking away from it. All Jeongin can think about is the increasing frequency of his mistakes, the mounting frustration in his muscles and the inevitable disappointment in Minho’s gaze.

And he doesn’t know what it is about his hyung that makes Jeongin always expect the worst from him. But nevertheless, he still does.

_God, he must think I’m such a failure._

With each consecutive mistake, it’s another hit to his self-worth; another step back, and another step away from his hyung’s approval.

No matter how hard he tries to fix it and start afresh, each attempt is as hopeless as the last.

After a while, there comes a point where nothing he does looks or feels right anymore.

He wants to punch a wall. Or break his hand trying.

But the anger doesn’t last long - it never does with Jeongin.

And as he feels the traitorous tears building up in his eyes, he seeks out Chan and excuses himself to go to the restroom; splash some cold water on his face, pace around a bit and maybe even cry a little.

He feels eyes trailing after him, but he is too ashamed in himself to look back.

When Jeongin returns with red-rimmed eyes and resignation heavy in his limbs, he is startled to see the practice room completely cleared out. He backtracks a little, just in case he managed to stroll into the wrong room, but upon further inspection, he ascertains he is indeed at the right place and it is indeed… empty.

Jeongin’s brow furrows, because nobody had told him that practice would end early.

But he doesn’t have much time to dwell on it, because he hears quiet whistling from the hallway and then the door behind him swings open. Jeongin turns to see Minho strolling into the practice room with two bottles of water underarm, giving Jeongin a nod.

“Hyung? What’s going on?”

Minho takes his time, setting the water bottles at the edge of the practice room and tinkering with the music player.

“It’s late and I told the others to leave.” Minho paused, seemingly considering his next words.“Are you… doing okay?”

Jeongin paused; trying to ignore the tremor of panic travelling down his spine.

His eyes shifted over to his reflection in one of the mirrors; his watery eyes and flushed cheeks, the hunch of his shoulders, the defeat in his frame.

_Was he doing okay?_

_Absolutely not._

This much was entirely obvious. Jeongin comes to realise that Minho was just giving him the courtesy of choosing whether to admit that he was having a hard time or not.

And Jeongin suddenly finds himself appreciating his hyung in a completely different way.

Minho clears his throat, taking Jeongin’s silence as refusal to talk about it. “Hey, it’s late. I know this choreo can be really intense, so you should take a break too.”

He was giving him a way out. A way to shelter the remains of his pride and leave.

However, Jeongin realises, that is not what he wants to do. This is not who he is. Instead, taking a deep breath, steels himself and says:

“No hyung, a-actually… I’m really struggling.”

His cheeks burn at his admission. He feels Minho’s gaze snap back to him and he panics for a second, averting his gaze and wondering if it’s too late to backtrack. But then he hears steps coming towards him and when he gathers the courage to look up at Minho’s face, Jeongin is startled to find Minho’s expression soft with understanding.

Like he’s been there before.

(Which Jeongin finds somewhat hard to believe.)

Minho comes to stand right in front of Jeongin, pausing for a moment, almost as if debating with himself, before placing a hesitant hand on Jeongin’s shoulder.

_Pat, pat._

And perhaps this little gesture is all it takes for Jeongin’s last restraints to fall away, because now his vision is blurring, the world is tipping over and words are tumbling out of his mouth at an alarming velocity.

“I-I’m not getting the steps down, hyung. Especially in the pre-chorus. It’s like—“ Jeongin lets a frustrated puff of air out. “Either my hands are too fast or my feet are too slow, or I’m not on beat at all, and I’m just not getting it. And it’s so frustrating!”

Minho lets out an empathetic noise, careful eyes studying Jeongin.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” His hand rubs Jeongin’s shoulder. “It’s a tough one for sure. It took me a few attempts to figure it out too.”

Jeongin nods, albeit a little mistrustfully.

Yet, Minho continues.

“Jeongin, you have a solid foundation and good control over your body. With a bit of practice, I know you can nail it.”

Jeongin lifts his unsure gaze to meet Minho’s resolute one.

“…You think so?”

“I _know_ so.”

Minho’s confidence is infectious, because despite the excess moisture in Jeongin’s eyes, he feels the corners of his lips turn upwards. The weight on his chest gets a little lighter, a little more bearable.

Because if someone as talented and as cool as Minho believes in him, then maybe he could stand to believe a little in himself as well.

Minho’s face also pulls up into a crooked grin, eyes crinkling into little crescent moons. His hand gives Jeongin’s shoulder a final pat before he steps away and crosses his arms in front of his chest expectantly.

“Now, show me.”

As the evening progresses, Jeongin comes to a quiet realisation.

Minho is not one to openly dote on people. Instead, he cares quietly; discreetly.

And Jeongin finds himself startled by how attentive Minho can really be.

Because when the music stops for the umpteenth time and Jeongin collapses on the floor in a heap of tired sweaty limbs, he is startled a few seconds later by a cold object pressing against his neck.

As he yelps and turns his head in its direction, he finds Minho handing him a new water bottle from the cooler.

“Thanks, hyung.” Jeongin manages. Then quickly adds: “You shouldn’t have.” Eyes searching Minho’s face for a few brief moments… before downing three-quarters of the bottle in one breath.

Minho snorts. “Shouldn’t have _my ass_.”

Yet, he is no better because a few seconds later, he is also downing half of his own bottle.

They end up practicing well into the wee hours of the morning; taking turns going through the choreography move-by-move, recording each other and then comparing their progress with the choreographer’s original video.

It is laborious and tiring, but ultimately, Jeongin ends up improving by leaps and bounds.

By 3AM, when they review footage from their final run-through of the choreography, Jeonginbeams when he sees himself clearing the pre-chorus with flying colours.

Minho nods and ruffles Jeongin’s hair in approval. “Good job, Jeongin-ah.”

Jeongin is not exactly sure whether it is the exhaustion or the energy drinks speaking, but he has the strong urge to tattoo these three words on his forehead.

However, even in his elation, Jeongin doesn’t fail to notice Minho stifling a yawn.

It is only then that he realises how long his hyung stayed back for him, and how tired he must be by now and a wave of guilt crashes into him with full force.

Jeongin bolts upright.

“Hyung, it’s late. We should go home.”

Minho glances up, eyes squinting from staring up into the bright lights. A tired smirk gracing his face.

“It was late before we started though. What’s the rush now?”

Jeongin’s guilt amplifies, and his expression must give it away because Minho is suddenly backtracking. “Eyy, I was just kidding. I’m fine. Just get your stuff from the locker and we’ll go.”

Jeongin lets out a breath and with one final guilty look at his hyung’s dark circles, he turns on his heel and exits the room.

When he returns a mere few minutes later, he finds Minho in the exact same spot on the floor, head nodding off to the side.

Jeongin’s heart squeezes painfully.

That night, Jeongin comes to a second quiet realisation.

Minho tends to conceal his true feelings for the benefit of others.

After that night at the practice room, Minho seizes to be a hyung that Jeongin merely idolises. Instead, Jeongin finds an urge building within himself; an urge to understand Minho, to befriend him.

And it seems that after this encounter, they do indeed grow closer because Minho begins spending more and more time with Jeongin.

Sometimes, as Jeongin is lying on his bed scrolling on his phone, he hears the door to his room open.

Then, suddenly—

“Cannonball!”

That’s about all the warning Jeongin gets before another body flops unceremoniously over his own, knocking the breath out of his lungs.

Jeongin yelps and promptly drops his phone on his face.

_Who the fu—_

A distinctive tinkle of laughter comes from the body on top of his. Jeongin doesn’t have to wonder who it is.

“MINHO HYUNG-- GET OFF!”

But then, other nights, when Jeongin is lying on his bed scrolling on his phone, eyelids heavy, he feels his bed covers being lifted; another body inching in next to his own and arms wrapping around him.

Jeongin is startled by the tenderness of the newcomer.

He is even more startled when the person lets out a wet sigh that hitches at the end.

_Minho-hyung._

And Jeongin is suddenly very awake.

Minho must feel the sudden jolt of awareness from Jeongin, because he takes a deep breath. Jeongin waits for the exhale, for the first word, for the explanation, for _anything at all_, but his hyung just… holds it.

Jeongin’s heart clenches.

Because Jeongin is familiar with what his hyung is feeling; with that special sense of loneliness reserved for the end of each promotion period.

The maddening cycle of racing after endless schedules, memorising the script in the van, running on three hours of sleep, being prodded by uncomfortable questions, unwelcome stares. All the while praying your legs don’t buckle under you from exhaustion because the cameras are on. 

The lights are flashing.

People are watching.

_Smile._

Jeongin knows what it is like all too well. Your skin feeling so battered and raw from the stares that the air around you hurts.

He understands Minho. And he aspires to become a person that Minho can trust and talk to whenever things get tough, the same way Minho is for Jeongin.

So Jeongin steels himself and tries.

“Hyung… ” He trails off.

A second passes. Minho clears his throat.

“Mmm?”

“Are you… okay?”

There is a pause. An eternity. A choice that hangs between them. One for Minho to make.

A stuttered breath on his neck. And then—

“… Jeonginnie is so cute when he worries about me.”

Jeongin exhales. His heart thumps sadly.

He has been shut out again.

It is moments like these that Jeongin is reminded: no matter how close he thinks they are, he is nowhere closer to understanding the enigma that is Minho.

Nevertheless, Saturday nights are Jeongin’s favourite.

On Saturday nights, when Jeongin doesn’t have to worry about getting up early school the next day, it becomes unspoken tradition for him and Minho to order food delivery and watch a horror movie of Jeongin’s choosing (Minho is the only hyung that lets Jeongin watch horror movies).

It is on such nights, as Minho and Jeongin are laying on the couch together, bellies full of good food, TV flickering, that Jeongin lets out a happy sigh.

Saturday nights are a healing time for Jeongin - they make facing the next week a little easier. A little less daunting.

Saturday nights give Jeongin hope that he is getting closer to understanding the enigma that is Minho; becoming someone Minho could trust and confide in.

Saturday nights are _theirs_.

As Minho and Jeongin grow closer, however, Jeongin begins noticing something about his hyung.

It comes as a surprise initially. A slow and gradual realisation.

It is not necessarily a bad thing, Jeongin insists to himself.

Not at all.

It’s just that sometimes, Jeongin finds Minho acting a bit… _odd_.

And after a while, it really begins to catch Jeongin off guard.

During a V-Live one Friday evening, Minho catches Jeongin throwing him a glance. In response, he turns sharply, locking Jeongin in place with his intense gaze before proceeding to lean incredibly close to his face.

Jeongin pulls back with a barely concealed gasp, spluttering and struggling to control his expression. He then watches incredulously as Minho sniggers before turning back to the cameras, like nothing happened.

Like this was completely normal.

Jeongin is left flustered, mouth hanging open. 

_How… odd._

The next time it happens, Jeongin is sitting on a couch in their waiting room trying not to fall asleep when Minho unceremoniously settles himself across his lap, feline smile and playful glint in his eyes.

Minho pokes at Jeongin’s neck, a plea for attention and Jeongin groans. Nose scrunching up at the intrusion, he moves a hand to push his hyung away, uttering:

“Hyung, I’m so tired, please.”

But alas, Minho smiles wider, undeterred. The same finger travels down to poke at Jeongin’s side, causing the younger to yelp and jolt away from the unexpected touch.

And it seems that’s all Minho needs because then, hands are sliding down Jeongin’s sides to tickle him relentlessly.

Jeongin struggles against Minho, head sliding into the crook of his neck, as his hands protest weakly against Minho’s onslaught.

“I’ve got you now! You’re not going anywhere.” Minho grins and presses his chin against the top of Jeongin’s head, keeping him locked between his arms.

He hears Jeongin’s giggles as he struggles against him and he lets himself get pushed away by Jeongin for a bit…. Only to flop back down on top of him again.

Jeongin groans, hiding his face in his hands.

_There is no escape from this menace!_

He feels his hyung’s chest vibrate with a laugh, as if reading his thoughts, and pulling back to look at him.

“Hey… You’re not going to sleep in there, are you?”

All Jeongin can manage is a grunt in reply, causing Minho to snigger and settle next to him.

“Let’s see if you are really awake or not.”

Minho begins prying Jeongin’s hands away from his face, making a show of apparently assessing the level of Jeongin’s sleepiness.

But Minho sniffles and a sudden realisation has Jeongin suddenly sitting upright.

“Hyung, wait! Stay back, you have a cold.”

Minho snorts at Jeongin’s outburst, propping himself back on one arm.

“Why are you so worried? Were we kissing or what?”

Jeongin rolls his eyes. “You can spread it by sticking to me.”

Minho makes a dismissive sound, something about young ones being well-able to handle a little cold, and slides down to lie on the couch, putting his head on Jeongin’s lap. Then his eyes sharpen and Jeongin realises a little belatedly—

“Wait, so if I’m not sick I can—“

“Not a chance!”

Minho lets out a hearty laugh, albeit a little congested.

Jeongin fights the urge to hurl his hyung out of a window. He makes a move to stand up fully, just about done with Minho’s shenanigans, but he finds arms circling around his waist, keeping him rooted to the couch.

Jeongin sighs, but as he glances down at Minho’s head on his lap he finds the corners of his mouth lifting up a little. He decides to entertain his hyung for a bit.

Minho grasps one of Jeongin’s hands and pulls it to the back of his neck, uttering a curt demand: “Strength.”

But Jeongin gets distracted by a little red speck on Minho’s forehead. He moves a finger to brush it away, but doesn’t succeed.

“Why is it red right here?” Jeongin whispers, almost to himself. He doesn’t expect to hear Minho’s voice quieten to match his own.

“Maybe it’s a stain or something. I didn’t get hurt, promise.”

“Really?” Jeongin whispers as his hand intertwines with Minho’s under Minho’s neck.

“Really.” Minho smiles, eyes crinkling. Jeongin feels another squeeze at his hand. “Now, give me strength!”

Jeongin takes the cue and tightens his hand into a fist under Minho’s neck. His eyes traveled back to the mysterious red spot. “Why didn’t you wash it off, then?”

But Minho doesn’t respond, instead letting his head drop fully on the headrest with a grunt. Now, Jeongin’s fist is fully pressing against the sore tendons in his neck, loosening up his muscles and banishing away any aches.

“That’s it.” Minho says with a breathless smile, closing his eyes, a small satisfied smile playing on his face. Jeongin shakes his head: it seems Minho was perfectly happy with leaving his questions unanswered.

(As always.)

“Fine, I’ll be your masseuse today.” Jeongin says with a small resigned smile.

_What an odd way of asking for some attention_, he thinks to himself.

As the seconds tick by and his fist keeps moving under Minho’s neck, kneading the muscles there, little gasps and grunts leaving Minho’s lips occasionally, Jeongin finds himself noticing Minho’s overall paleness and the mounting dark circles under his eyes.

It dawns on him a little belatedly. His hyung is sick. And generally when people are sick, they need more care and attention.

_Was this his hyung’s way of trusting him? Confiding in him that he was not well and that he needed someone to notice? To ask?_

_Or was Jeongin simply projecting?_

As Jeongin sank deeper and deeper into thought, his free hand came to tinker with Minho’s earring, watching as it reflected light onto Minho’s pale cheek, wondering.

_What is going through your mind, hyung?_

His absentmindedness must have translated through his massaging though, as Minho’s eyebrows furrow in mock annoyance.

“Are you really giving me a massage or are you just messing with me?”

Jeongin snorts, discarding all of his previous thoughts.

“Well!” He exclaims. “Since you don’t appreciate my kind efforts, I’m out of here.”

“No no, wait—“ Minho’s voice rises in pitch as he goes to latch onto Jeongin in any way he can, but Jeongin is too fast for his sluggish reflexes, leaving his hands to grasp at thin air.

His hyung whines at the loss (which is also quite uncharacteristic for him).

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere but here. The couch is all yours, hyung.”

Jeongin tries to ignore Minho’s pout because _Manipulation tactics, all of it!_ and crosses the room. He slides down into a chair by the vanities, grabbing his backpack and burying his face in it to escape the harsh lights of the room.

A few quiet seconds pass and he starts to think he’s finally home-free.But then he hears a rustle from the general direction of the couches, and then a familiarly warm figure is stealthily settling by his side and wrapping its arms around him.

Jeongin doesn’t even have to guess.

“… Falling asleep again, are we?”

“I said you could have the couch! Go away!” Jeongin whines and burrows his head further into his backpack. 

From the edges of his consciousness, he hears someone else’s voice:

“_Minho hyung, leave him alone._”

He doesn’t catch Minho’s response… or if there was even one to begin with.

But he feels Minho slowly slip away from his side, leaving him cold.

Jeongin slips into unconsciousness.

Minho’s oddness is not a once-off incident either.

In fact, it continues long after he has recovered from his petty cold.

So when the group is filming “Two Kids Room” and Jeongin finds out that he is paired up with Minho for his segment, he knows he is in for a wild ride. Because with Minho’s personality, it’s safe to assume that the director’s script is out of the window and it’s unto uncharted waters from thereon out.

From the minute Jeongin enters the set and finds his hyung lounging on the couch, he finds himself forgetting that the cameras are rolling. It’s just him and his hyung on a Saturday night, talking about whatever and having a great time.

Except this is like Saturday night on _steroids_, because Minho is in a particularly random mood that day and continually comes up with the most absurd conversation topics that send Jeongin into constant fits of laughter.

Thankfully, there are a few lulls in their conversation here and there; an opportunity for Jeongin to catch his breath.

However, at such moments, just when Jeongin feels like he can finally catch a break, his hyung would suddenly utter a gem like:

“Hey, I suddenly feel like a flatfish sashimi.”

Which would send them off into their next laughing fit until their bellies hurt.

The time it takes afterwards to simply deconstruct that statement is filled with constant laughter and ridiculousness. At one point, even the staff members on-site had to muffle their laughter.

As their filming session wraps up, Jeongin is convinced he is well on the way to getting a six-pack. And even though he can’t even begin to make sense of the grey matter in Minho’s head, he finds himself oddly… endeared.

As Minho walks out of the set for the “Two Kids Room” episode, he feels positively giddy.

One of the things he had always been anxious about was getting along with the younger members of the group. Minho was never one to impose his elder status upon those younger than him… But he knew he tended to come off as cold or stand-off-ish to others. 

Which is why he feels so happy that he enjoys a good relationship with Jeongin.

The cherry on top was that him and Jeongin had agreed to go for some pork belly this evening.

And Minho couldn’t wait.

A few hours later, however, Minho is restlessly pacing in his room. It is 7 pm, his stomach is churning in hunger yet Jeongin is nowhere to be seen.

The dorm is quiet.

Minho paces a bit more.

He pauses, checks his phone for the umpteenth time and sighs to himself: “Why isn’t he replying?”

“Who?”

Minho lets out an undignified yelp and whips around to find Seungmin peeking into his room with a raised eyebrow.

_Damn, he had forgotten he wasn’t the only one in the dorm._

Minho straightens up and clears his throat.

“Jeongin isn’t back yet. Have you seen him?”

Seungmin shrugs, eyeing him strangely. “No, I haven’t. Why?”

“We had plans after filming. But I haven’t seen him all afternoon and he’s not returning any of my texts now. Do you know why?” Minho glanced down at his phone woefully, as it displayed no notifications.

He hears a sigh from the doorway.

A few steps towards him. Then—

“Don’t you think you’re being too much?”

Minho froze.

He looked at Seungmin inquisitively. “…What?”

“You heard me, hyung. You’ve been bothering Jeongin a bit too much lately.”

Minho inhaled sharply, eyebrows furrowing. “Excuse me—“

“Even in the dressing rooms and during broadcasts, you don’t let the kid breathe!”

“Seungmin, I am just messing with him. Jeongin and I enjoy a good relationship, we understand each other.“

_And it’s the truth, really. We do get on very well with each other._

Minho assumes this is the end of this conversation. But to his complete surprise, Seungmin scoffs.

“Don’t delude yourself, hyung.” Seungmin’s lips stretch into a thin smile. “Jeongin is young, polite. He only listens to you because he doesn’t want to offend you. We all do. Otherwise, you’re just too _odd_ to be understood.”

Minho’s mouth opens but no syllables form.

The room fills with silence - like the silence following a loud slap.

Minho knows he should probably be shrugging this off right now. He knows he should probably be defending himself and calling Seungmin out for his rudeness. But Seungmin’s expression is so serious, with a smile so caustic that something carefully concealed within Minho catches.

Snags.

Then _tears_.

“…Get out.” Minho manages in a hoarse whisper.

His world tilts for a second.

Then, Seungmin’s expression is crumbling. Confusion is being replaced by ugly realisation as their conversation rewinds in his mind; as the horrible punchline replays in high definition.

Anger with Seungmin is always like this: it burns out almost as soon as it erupts, but it always leaves a path of debris in its wake.And the regret that follows almost immediately afterwards is well-intentioned, _nice _even_… _But ultimately useless. Like a bandaid on a mangled limb.

Minho can feel it. That something akin to an apology is currently dancing on the tip of Seungmin’s tongue._ Waiting._

Minho knows. He can tell.

But he doesn’t have the strength deal with it. Not right now, when he can already feel the tell-tale burning behind his eyelids and the hitch in his breath.

“… Hyung, you know I didn’t—“

“Save it.” Minho strains. “Get out. Now.”

It takes overwhelming effort for his voice to remain steady, detached.

He hears Seungmin whisper a pitiful “I’m sorry,” to which he turns his head away.

He waits for the low click of the door closing, almost as if waiting for a permission to explode, and when it comes he grabs a pillow, stuffs his face into it and screams.

A few hours later, Jeongin barges into his room with a bag of takeaway.

“Hyung, I’m sorry I missed—“

He stops in his tracks.

The room is completely dark and silent.

Minho is laying on his bed; a lump enveloped in duvet.

_Ah, his hyung must be asleep already. He probably grabbed something to eat with another member and passed out afterwards._

Jeongin reprimanded himself for intruding without knocking and tiptoed out of the room.

The resounding click of the door makes Minho bury his face deeper in his pillow.

Outside, he can hear Jeongin offering Chan some takeaway pork belly.

_It is finally lunchtime and Minho is eagerly tossing his backpack to the floor as he runs out into the school yard._

_He cannot wait to sit under the tall chestnut tree once again and tell his firebug friends about his day._

_However, as he turns the corner and catches sight of the tree - of _his _tree - his step stutters._

_What was normally an empty space under the tree is now taken up by a large group of students._

_What is going on there? _he wonders_._

_As Minho nears the group, he hears the excited murmurs of his school mates. Trepidation slowly crawls up his spine and comes to wrap around his throat._

_He makes his way under the shade of the tree and the crowd begins to part bit by bit._

_It takes a few moments for Minho’s eyes to adjust to the shade, but when they finally do what they see stops Minho cold in his tracks._

_A dry scream rips apart from his throat._

When his “Two Kids Room” episode with Jeongin is aired a few days later, Minho runs back to the dorm. He kicks off his shoes in a hurry, slams the door, closes the curtain to his bed, loads the video and… pauses.

All of his courage suddenly evaporates and he is left with his finger hovering over the “play” button.

_You’re being an idiot. Seungmin was wrong._

He tries to assure himself.

_Play the damn video and prove him wrong already._

However, Minho can’t escape the nagging feeling that Seungmin is not the one about to be proven wrong now.

Nevertheless he steels himself and, after what feels like an eternity, presses ‘play’.

He watches with a lump in his throat as on-screen Minho’s eyes light up when Jeongin enters the set. On-screen Minho smiles and teasingly tells Jeongin to pick a conversation topic.

Minho’s lips curl up fondly at the younger’s laugh… until Jeongin says:

“Honestly, you’ve been odd since day one.”

Minho’s breath catches.

On-screen Jeongin sighs.

“Ah, this isn’t easy…”

_What’s not easy? Am I really that difficult to hang out with?_

On-screen Jeongin shows a tired smile while gazing at Minho.

_Do I… make you uncomfortable?_

“No, not uncomfortable. Not at all. But sometimes, it’s just… So hard to understand you!”

Minho’s heart lurches painfully.

“It’s just that you talk nonsense so frequently… Why don’t you talk straight?”

_…I don’t know._

“Ah… this isn’t easy.” The younger lamented once again. “You’re just crazy.”

Minho gasps. He tries to close the video because he can’t bear to listen anymore. But his eyes are blurry with unshed tears and his finger keeps blindly tapping at the screen, missing the mark and subjecting him to more of the video.

On-screen Minho tries to change the subject with a laugh, tries to convince Jeongin that everyone in the group is a little crazy lately; that his behaviour is nothing out of the ordinary.

Jeongin sighs again and reluctantly agrees.

_Why is he sighing so often when he’s with me?_

_Is he agreeing with me because he doesn’t want to offend me?_

_What’s wrong with being a little less easy to understand anyways?_

_And why won’t this stupid video switch off already?!_

Unbeknownst to him, large tears were streaming down his cheeks. It was getting harder to breathe.

The entire world was closing in on him but at that moment Minho was becoming so agitated at his lack of control over the device in his hand that he wasn’t even noticing.

All he wanted was for the video to shut off, off, _OFF_—

Until he couldn’t take it anymore.

Minho yanked the curtains of his bed open and threw the offending phone against the wall. It ricocheted with a resounding crack and landed on the floor in pieces.

The silence that followed was punctured only by Minho’s laboured breathing, which hitched and heaved painfully in his lungs.

Seungmin’s words replayed over and over in his mind, taunting him.

_He only listens to you because he doesn’t want to offend you._

_We all do._

_Otherwise, you’re too odd to be understood._

Seungmin had been right.

Switching off is the only way Minho copes. It’s the only way he knows to, really.

He resolves that maybe if he puts himself through hell, then he won’t have the energy or the time to think about anything else.

Thus, Minho takes to practicing later and later in the night, to the brink of total exhaustion. He fills up any remaining gaps in his day with workouts, walks and listening to music at maximum volume to drown out any unwelcome thoughts.

He does anything to keep him away from the dorms; anything to avoid the company of his members, especially any and all interaction with Jeongin.

At night, when he finally reaches his bed, Minho is already asleep even before his head even hits the pillow. 

And truthfully, Minho feels justified in his behaviour.

After all, the only way to avoid forcing people to reckon with his odd personality was to remove himself entirely from the equation. The only way to stop himself from breaking down was to work himself to the ground. 

Hence, his self-imposed regime took care of things quite neatly.

Minho’s withdrawal does not escape Jeongin. Not in the slightest.

As the group calls it a day and turns to leave the practice room, Jeongin turns back to look at the lone hunched figure remaining in the studio. It concerns Jeongin how suddenly and fully Minho had cut himself away from the rest of the group.

But what alarms Jeongin most is the carefully blank expression on his hyung’s face, which persists through thick and thin, even as he continues to push himself past breaking-point day after day.

As Jeongin observes Minho for a while, the same question swirls in his head:

_What has gotten into Minho?_

It is Saturday evening. One of _their_ Saturday evenings.

Jeongin tries to swallow down the irregularities in his hyung’s behaviour over the past few days and bounds excitedly into Minho’s room. When he asks about what movie they should watch, however, Jeongin is greeted by Minho’s same blank expression. 

At first, Jeongin tries to not let it dampen his spirit, justifying it to himself that his hyung probably just forgot.

But when Minho’s blank expression persists, Jeongin gets a weird urge to double-check the calendar.

“Today is Saturday and on Saturdays we watch a movie… Right, hyung?”

Minho’s expression morphs into something pained and it scares Jeongin.

_Did he do something wrong? Was he overstepping a boundary he wasn’t aware existed? _

An uncharacteristically awkward silence stretched between them. Jeongin bites his lip.

“Hyung, if you’re not feeling up to it, you don’t have to—

But Minho clears his throat and shakes his head, almost as if snapping himself out of a daze.

“No, it’s okay. We can watch whatever you like.”

Jeongin eyes his hyung uncertainly, unsure if he should pry.

“Are you sure, hyung?”

Minho turns to look at him, his lips stretching into a translucent smile. One Jeongin could see right through.

“Yep. Now go pick one.”

That Saturday evening, as Minho and Jeongin are laying on the couch together, bellies full of good food, TV flickering, Jeongin turns his head to subtly observe his hyung.

His hyung looks… small and vulnerable, curled up in a ball on the large sofa. Jeongin comes to notice his hyung’s zoned-out stare, preoccupied expression as he hugs his knees closer to himself. Jeongin observes Minho’s hands as they restlessly trace shapes on the material of his trousers and finds himself pondering what is going through his hyung’s head.

Jeongin wants to assure Minho; to tell him that he can rely on Jeongin and confide in him the same way Jeongin confided in him that evening in the practice room. But before he can find the courage and the right words for Minho, the credits are rolling all too soon and Minho is ruffling his hair with a weighted smile.

Jeongin gives a small smile in return and watches Minho’s hunched back as he retires to his room for the evening.

He wonders if Saturday evenings were ever a healing time for Minho at all; if Saturday evenings were ever truly _theirs_.

_A droplet of sweat rolls down his neck._

_The crowd slowly parts around Minho as he comes to face with the scene._

_As his eyes adjust, time slows to a crawl._

_It takes him a few moments to understand what he is seeing. To understand why it is happening._

_His eyes are blinking. Struggling to take it in._

_Two of his classmates are crouching down._

_Setting the moss aflame…_

Minho wakes with a start. His cheeks are wet and the world is spinning.

They burned down everything.

The chestnut tree. The moss. The firebugs.

_Everything._

It’s 3 AM. 

Everyone is asleep at the dorm… except for Jeongin, who is illuminated by his laptop screen. He is playing a game and he is on a particularly difficult boss battle, so he barely hears someone approach the living room.

Jeongin mutters a small ‘Hi’ in the darkness. He doesn’t get a response other than footsteps continuing on to the kitchen.

His eyebrows furrow.

_What was that about?_

He plays for a bit more, but his mind is not on the game anymore and his character loses again.

Jeongin huffs and shuts his laptop, only to be engulfed in complete silence.

He briefly wonders whether someone did walk past the living room or whether the footsteps were a product of his delirium. But he is relieved to see some light coming from the kitchen and waits to hear a sound.

As the silence stretches on, however, his palms grow cold.

_What if someone had passed out in the kitchen?_

The thought has Jeongin leaping from the couch and taking brisk strides towards the kitchen. 

As he reaches the doorway of the kitchen, it takes his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the harsh light. However, as they finally do, he spots a disheveled figure leaning against the counter.

_Minho._

Jeongin realises he has never seen him like this.

His hyung was leaning against the counter, shoulders hunched and matted locks stuck to his temples. He was staring at a glass of water in his hand with a glazed, faraway look.

“Hyung?” Jeongin tried tentatively.

But alas, no response.

Jeongin swallowed and took a hesitant step forward.

“Minho-hyung?”

A pause. A deep breath. And then—

“Firebugs.” His hyung murmured.

Jeongin froze and blinked.

“… Sorry?”

“Firebugs,” His hyung repeated, a little louder. “They mean no harm.”

… Okay.

Jeongin was at a complete loss. His hyung was not making any sense whatsoever.

Yet, Minho continued on:

“They can’t fly, they don’t bite. They mean no harm… They just… Eat moss… and wander about.” His voice shook. “Sure, they look a bit odd… but they’re harmless, right?”

Had it been a normal day, Jeongin would have scoffed something along the lines of “cool story” and tuned off. However, this was certainly not the case now and the blank look on Minho’s face deeply unsettled Jeongin.

The silence stretched and Jeongin wondered if his hyung expected an answer.

He cleared his throat and hesitated, before letting out a nervous laugh:

“I guess…?”

He startled when Minho’s eyes suddenly came to life.

“Right!?” His hyung exclaimed as his eyes began shining with excess moisture.”So I don’t understand why they’d— just— _burn_—“

His voice breaks and his expression is twisting into something so painful and Jeongin panics because he’s only ever seen a similar expression on his hyung’s face when he got that severe sprain a year ago. Never prior and never since.

Jeongin takes another step and reaches his hand out towards his hyung. “Hyung, are you hurt—“

But he is stopped in his tracks when Minho’s expression suddenly stretches into a watery, blind smile.

“Am I _that_ odd… For you to understand?”

The words are uttered so quietly that Jeongin barely hears them. But when they register, they freeze him in his tracks.

His hand remains awkward and outstretched towards Minho as he tries to process what he just heard.

_Am I that odd...?_

But Minho is staring into space, unmoving; not quite seeing, not quite knowing. Jeongin realises he is stuck in that liminal space between not entirely awake and not fully asleep. The space between nightmare and reality, where one thinks they are completely alone. 

And as Jeongin peers into Minho’s eyes, unfocused, watery and dark, he wonders how it’s possible for someone to be so close in body yet so far away in spirit.

Jeongin’s thoughtfulness is suddenly broken by the sound of his hyung’s breath catching.

“Thought so.”

And then the empty glass is slipping from his fingers. Free-fall.

Jeongin gasps and lunges forward to catch it before it shatters into a millions pieces. He manages to secure the glass, but miscalculates the distance because he collides with his hyung’s chest and positively knocks the air out of his lungs.

They stay like that, unmoving for a second, before Jeongin gathers the courage to look up at his hyung.

And he feels as if he is watching Minho slowly come back to consciousness.

Because Minho is blinking at the ceiling, irises narrow and unfocused, as if his gaze is searching for something to focus on, yet not quite finding it. 

Then he is uttering a shaky:

“Jeonginnie?”

And Jeongin’s breath catches, his heart breaking.

Never has he seen his hyung look so… fragile. So thoroughly lost in his own home.

“Hyung… are you okay?”

Just as quickly as Jeongin had taken a glimpse at _this_ Minho, the new and unfamiliar Minho, the walls come back up and the old Minho is back.

His hyung blinks a few times and straightens up before looking down and offering a half-smile to Jeongin. But up close, Jeongin can still feel the slight shake in his shoulders, hear the wobble in his voice.

“Don’t mind me.” Minho lets out a jarring, wet laugh and shakes his head. “Hyung is just a little odd sometimes, isn’t he?”

Jeongin’s mouth falls open at the older’s statement.

He had so much to say, so much to ask, so much to decipher but before he could manage to produce a single coherent sentence, Minho is carefully prying the glass away from his hands and washing it in the sink.

Jeongin fumbles with his empty hands and wondered how to even begin inquiring about what just happened. He really wished he was better at this kind of thing, like Jisung or Chan would be, and offer some kind of comfort. Some kind of _anything,_ really.

But before he could lament his lack of emotional tact, his thoughts are interrupted by his hyung:

“It’s late. Shouldn’t you be in bed by now?”

Jeongin pauses.

He is stunned. Because this is the first time Minho had asserted his seniority over him. This is the first time Jeongin hears an unexpected edge to Minho’s voice; a tone which leaves no room to argue.

And frankly, it stings.

Jeongin recognises he has no choice. Minho has backed him into a corner and all he can do is answer: “Y-yes, hyung.”

“Let’s go, then.” Minho gestures towards the bedrooms. “Good night.”

And with that, he disappears in the dark hallway.

Jeongin is left all alone in the kitchen with countless unanswered questions.

Jeongin tosses and turns that night. His hyung’s cryptic words replay in his mind over and over.

Sleep does not come easy.

Minho avoids him the next day. And the week after that.

At first, Jeongin convinces himself he is imagining it.

It’s the morning after their late night encounter and Jeongin is walking out of his and Jisung’s room. However, just as he crosses the threshold of his room, a big yawn overtakes him and he loses sight of where he is going… Because he ends up colliding with another person.

Arms reach out to steady him as he finishes his yawn- only to come face-to-face with Minho.

Jeongin feels his face light up.

_Just the person I wanted to see!_

“Ah, hyung! Did you sle—“

But before he can greet him properly, his hyung side-steps him smoothly with a “Morning,” and walks away.

Jeongin’s words die at his lips as he watches his hyung’s retreating figure.

_That was… strange._

But Jeongin shakes if off. Surely, his hyung was just busy and didn’t have time to talk now.

_Surely…_

However, as the week progresses, Jeongin ends up being confronted by so many little situations where Minho avoids his presence.

As they attend a radio show, Minho sits as far away from Jeongin as the table allows.

As the group walks, Minho always seems to lag a few members behind Jeongin.

And as they lounge around in waiting rooms, Minho sits in the corner of the room with headphones in, eyes closed and music on max.

Jeongin notices all of these things.

He _tries _not to feel hurt.

A few days pass.

As the group goes back to the dance studio, Minho keeps his distance and practices in relative silence.

Jeongin knows it: Minho is ticking boxes, executing every move through muscle-memory; but Jeongin notes his face is wearing that same faraway expression that particularly unsettles Jeongin.

Something is bubbling just under the surface. Something Jeongin just can’t quite put his finger on.

And yet, Jeongin can’t take his eyes off of his hyung. Because whatever Jeongin does, he finds himself constantly trying to catch Minho’s gaze through the mirror; trying establish some sort of connection, some sort of _link_ anchoring his hyung to the present.

It unnerves him even further when he can’t.

As they get to the pre-chorus and Jeongin has to side-step into formation beside Minho, he miscalculates the distance and ends up stumbling into his hyung. Luckily, Minho’s fast reflexes save them both from falling as his hyung steadies him.

Jeongin breathes a sigh of relief and looks up at his hyung to make sure he is okay.

“Oh my god, I’m so sor—“

But he is cut off with a curt:

“Watch where you’re going next time.”

Jeongin is startled to be met with a sharp expression but before he can get his bearings, his hyung is stepping away and yelling “From the top!” to the rest of the group.

Thorny feelings of rejection and sadness weave around Jeongin’s heart and _squeeze_. And while they normally would have caused him to curl into himself and wallow, Jeongin hardly pays attention to them now.

In his daze, Jeongin realises this was the first time he had gotten a proper look at his hyung’s face since _that night_.

That night when he had witnessed his hyung unravelling at the seams.

And Jeongin is dismayed.

Because not only was his hyung doing his best to avoid him.

He had also looked positively _hollow_. 

Perhaps what Jeongin doesn’t notice is a figure in the back bowing its head down in guilt.

As the members pick up their bags and file out of the studio one by one, Jeongin trails at the back absentmindedly. However, he is startled out of his thoughts as he feels a hand wrapping around his wrist and tugging him back.

He turns around curiously, only to find Seungmin looking at him with a forlorn expression.

“Iyenie, there is something you should know…”

Jeongin knows that everyone has issues. And he firmly believes that sometimes, the best thing you can do for a person is to give them time to work through those issues on their own.

However, Jeongin realises this doesn’t apply where a person puts themselves on the path of self-destruction because of something related to you.

Something you are vicariously responsible for.

Jeongin comes to that conclusion as he walks out of the dance studio, leaving silence in his wake; silence after Seungmin’s confession; silence after tragic realisation and utterance of some choice words to his hyung.

Silence after exiting the elevator, only to spot Minho nodding off by the coffee vending machine in the hallway.

Silence as Jeongin laments the hollowness of Minho’s cheeks. The purple-ish dark shadows under his eyes.

Silence as Jeongin bites his lip. Tastes copper.

Silence.

_What has he done._

As Jeongin lies in his bed that evening, stomach churning uneasily, he tries to put together every piece of the jigsaw puzzle. Tries to figure out where exactly things began to go wrong.

He closes his eyes and thinks back to the last time he had seen Minho smile at him genuinely.

With a sinking heart, it doesn’t take long for him to realise that it was during the filming for their episode of ‘Two Kids Room’.

And Jeongin feels compelled to see it again. Before he knows it, his hand has found his phone in the darkness and is pulling up the video.

Jeongin holds his breath as he presses play; the intro begins, filled with their mutual laughter.

Jeongin’s heart constricts at his hyung’s cheerful expression.

Then, the camera is panning to Jeongin, who gives off a sigh and says:

“Honestly, you’ve been odd since day one.”

Jeongin gasps.

A sudden zap of electricity runs through him at the familiarity of that statement.

His mind flashes back to 3AM that night at the kitchen, when his hyung had looked so lost in his own home.

_“Am I that odd… For you to understand?”_

Jeongin squeezes his eyes shut as he feels the painful click of another puzzle piece slotting into place.

Jeongin wants to click off the video. Yearns to escape from it.

But he stops himself because _no, he cannot bail out._

He has to see this through to the end; to see what damage he has done.

He owes this much to his hyung.

It is 3:36AM. Silent tears are streaming down Jeongin’s face. 

He comes to a second tragic realisation.

He isn’t just vicariously responsible for his hyung’s self-destructive behaviour. 

He is **solely** responsible for it.

At 4:12AM, Jeongin is cried-out and numb.

In the silent of the night, he makes a promise to himself and to his hyung; a promise to fix the mess he has made.

Jeongin promises to show Minho that he doesn’t just tolerate him; that in fact he really _cares_ about him and cherishes him.

Jeongin doesn’t delude himself - he knows it won’t be easy. But he is ready to fight for his hyung.

And if Minho is stubborn, Jeongin resolves to be twice as stubborn.

If there is one thing Jeongin has learned about Minho, it’s that he cannot be pried open at will.

Minho sees himself as too much of a hyung-like figure to rely on people; to confide.

So, although Jeongin cannot force Minho to trust him, he decides he can at least take little actions to look out for his hyung; to show him that he is a reliable friend that won’t leave his side.

The next morning, Minho gets up earlier than the others to go for a workout. He is stumbling bleary-eyed and turning the corner into the kitchen, only to be startled out of his wits by Jeongin handing him a fresh cup of dark coffee.

“Wha—?” Minho cuts off, as his voice cracks with sleep.

Jeongin smiles warmly, his eyes also a little bleary.

“Good morning, hyung. I tried to make some coffee for you. Drink and let me know what you think.”

Minho blinks in puzzlement and glances down at the cup.

Light foam. No milk. One ice-cube.

Just the way Minho likes it.

He sends Jeongin a mistrustful look, half expecting this to be a prank. However, as he blinks the sleep away from his eyes and takes a second to notice the younger’s dishevelled state, swollen eyes and sleepy smile, the suspicion slowly fades and gets replaced by concern.

“What are you doing up so early?”

Jeongin’s smile falters. Turns a little more subdued.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to wait up for you.” The younger looks down at the cup in his hyung’s hands. “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to. I just wanted—”

Minho’s gaze is drawn to the counter behind Jeongin, where the younger’s phone is playing avideo on how to make coffee in a French press.

Minho glances down at the warm cup in his hand and his heart swells a little.

This is the first time anyone has made the special effort of making him a cup of coffee.

Jeongin continues rambling - he does that when he’s nervous but doesn’t want to show it.

Minho cuts him off by slowly taking a sip. He pauses, contemplating.

Then, he takes another.

And another.

Jeongin’s eyes watch him intently.

_It’s a little on the watery side._

Yet the lines around Minho’s eyes soften up a little.

_It’s perfect._

It seems that Minho’s reaction is approval enough, because Jeongin smiles with glee, his eyes crinkling into small crescent-shapes.

“I’m so glad you’re actually drinking it.”

Soft endearment swaths Minho’s body in endless trails of cotton-wool, hanging off of his arms, softening the edges of jagged insecurities. Minho has the sudden, overwhelming urge to envelop the younger in his cotton embrace and to protect him from the world. From himself.

Minho sighs. Swallows against the woolliness in his throat.

“Go back to sleep, Jeongin-ah.”

Yet, downy fondness leaks in his voice.

The next evening, as dance practice ends and the members pack up to leave, Minho is well-aware he will not be joining them.

The excuses are ready at the tip of his tongue when Chan asks.

_There is always more to do - more moves to perfect, more transitions to smooth out. Hyung, you know how it is._

Chan understands. “Leaves him to do what he’s got to do”.

Before the familiar loneliness of staying behind envelops Minho, he bids the group goodbye and rolls out a mat. He begins stretching anew for what will undoubtedly be another long night.

As he reaches forward to grab his toes, however, the last thing he expects to hear is the sound of a second mat hitting the ground beside his.

Minho straightens up and looks to his side inquisitively, only to find Jeongin mimicking him and struggling to reach his toes.

Jeongin gives him a strained but cheerful smile. “I’m not quite there yet, am I?”

Minho takes another look at the 10cm gap between the tips of Jeongin’s fingers and his toes and nearly smiles. He clears his throat.

“What are you still doing here? It’s late.”

The younger turns to him.

“What are _you_ doing here, hyung? It’s also late.”

Minho’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. _What was that rascal playing at?_

“I’m practicing the choreography, but—“

“Great! So am I. There are a few parts I am really struggling with.” Jeongin smiles sheepishly. “Can you help me please?”

Minho blinks a few times.

Well, that was an obvious lie. The younger was nailing the entire choreography just half an hour ago, as far as Minho was concerned.

Minho has no idea what Jeongin is playing at, what scheme he has come up with, but he has been acting weird since this morning and now Minho’s mind is short-circuiting to find a clue. An explanation for all of it.

“Jeongin-ah, it’s late…” He tries gently and immediately dies inside when Jeongin’s smile dims a little. 

“Please, hyung?”

Minho sighs helplessly.

_How could he spare Jeongin from his presence when the younger was actively seeking him out?_

“Iyenie…“

“Pretty please? With a cherry on top?”

The younger doesn’t relent.

_Doesn’t know what’s good for him._

Minho sighs and looks at Jeongin, not expecting to be met with seemingly innocent eyes blinking up at him. He briefly contemplates having a minor existential crisis right then and there, as the younger is staring at him with so much trust and longing it makes him want to disintegrate.

Instead, he finds his shoulders sinking with resignation.

“Fine, suit yourself.” Minho looks away and continues stretching, before adding, “I’m not going to take it easy just because you’re here.”

Minho expects Jeongin to regret his decision.

What he doesn’t see is Jeongin silently punching the air in triumph. 

An hour later finds Minho and Jeongin sprawled on the floor, struggling to catch their breath after yet another re-run of the choreography. 

Minho certainly wasn’t kidding when he said he wouldn’t take it easy.

Suddenly, Jeongin’s phone rings, breaking the silence in the studio.Jeongin takes one look at the screen and immediately jolts up, making a hasty excuse and ducking out of the studio.

Minho’s eyes trail after him. His heart sinks knowingly; he had been expecting this.

He slowly crawls to the corner of the studio and comes to rest his head against the cool mirror. He closes his eyes and allows himself to feel the loneliness. The defeat.

Minho thinks to himself:_ This is it. You’ve finally driven him away for good. Job well-done._

Ten minutes later, Minho jolts from his numb daze as the door opens.

Jeongin enters, carrying a large bag in hand, eyes searching the studio. When he spots Minho’s hunched frame at the corner of the studio, his face lights up.

“There you are, hyung! I thought you had disappeared.”

Jeongin walks over to Minho, plopping down to the ground beside him and crossing his feet. He begins unpacking the bag he brought and the delicious scent of food hits Minho.

“Sorry I had to duck out so quickly. But I was thinking… Since I never really made good on my promise to treat you to some pork belly, why not order some now.” Jeongin pauses to look at Minho, ears burning. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Minho freezes under Jeongin’s gaze, his mouth falling open without a sound. 

Jeongin averts his gaze and begins opening the takeaway boxes one by one to reveal perfectly grilled pork belly slices, salad leaves, kimchi, chilli peppers and two soft drinks. He continues:

“Even though I sometimes joke around or whine when hyung asks me for something, I don’t mean any harm by it. I hope you know that.”

Jeongin picks up a pair of chopsticks and a lettuce leaf.

All Minho can do is listen to him and watch as Jeongin carefully picks up a piece of meat and places it on the leaf.

“I’m sorry for being late after filming that day. Truthfully, I stayed back to practice with Hyunjin and we got so stuck on this one part of the choreo that time completely slipped away from us.”

Jeongin’s brows knit at the memory, but he doesn’t dare to look at Minho. Instead, he places a dash of chilli paste on top of the wrap.

“By the time I came back to the dorm with takeaway for us, it was already too late and you were already asleep.”

Jeongin lifts his head briefly to look at Minho and as their eyes meet, Minho’s world tilts a little.

“I’m sorry, hyung.”

Minho’s head spins; he feels like a puppet on a string, like his body is not his to control. All he can manage is to nod woodenly.

“I know it took a long time for us to properly go out for a meal; to spend some time together. But I hope we start by making up for it now.”

Jeongin places his chopsticks down and scrunches the top of the wrap together to close it. A hesitant smile appears on his face as he slowly raises the wrap up to Minho’s parted lips.

“So please accept my apology.” He pauses, “…And my mediocre wrap.”

Minho is terrifyingly still.

He stares at Jeongin. Stares at his face, at his unsure smile, at the hunch in his shoulders.

He stares at the youngest member of Stray Kids, the baby of their group. Stares at the person he would give an arm and a leg to protect, the person he would kill for.

That same person, who he’d ended up putting through so much grief, so much trouble by existing. Who is now kneeling beside him and apologising with all the remorse in the world for something that wasn’t even his fault.

Minho stares and stares and stares until Jeongin starts becoming a blurry, unfocused figure swimming in the excess moisture in his eyes.

His lip wobbles, and he feels Jeongin’s wrap brush his bottom lip again. A silent plea.

Then, Jeongin’s shaky voice follows:

“_Please_, hyung.”

Minho sniffs once. Twice. And after a second of hesitation, obediently opens his mouth.

He hears Jeongin’s quiet sigh of relief, as Jeongin feeds the wrap to him so gingerly, so carefully that Minho’s heart lodges in his throat.

Minho chews. Wipes at his cheeks. Chews. Sniffles a little.

Jeongin wipes at his cheeks too, takes a few breaths, before taking his chopsticks and reaching for another lettuce leaf.

For a while, the world is a blurry place.

By the time they finally make it to the dorm, everyone else is asleep and both Jeongin and Minho are dead on their feet.

They shower together wordlessly, washing away the sweat and tears from each other’s faces.

Then, as they are sliding into their pyjamas and Minho turns to go, he feels a slight tug at the bottom of his sleeve. He turns towards a weary Jeongin who meets his eyes in earnest.

A silent agreement is reached in a matter of moments as Minho takes Jeongin’s hand into his and gently leads him to his room.

They both crawl into Minho’s bed quietly. Minho envelops Jeongin in a warm hug, running his fingers through the wet strands of his hair.

Sleep comes a few seconds later.

Minho thinks that _surely_, this must be it. This is the conclusion of Jeongin’s efforts.

Now, things can return back to normal and Minho can continue being careful about burdening Jeongin with his presence.

However, he soon realises he couldn’t have been any more wrong because it seems that Jeongin grows more attached to him day by day.

They are shooting their music-video for _Miroh_ in the bitter coldness of March.

The members are dressed in leather jackets, shorts and flimsy sweaters. Their only hope of staying warm is to dance hard enough to generate some semblance of heat in their bodies.

The members strike their final pose for the chorus and as the music stops, the director mercifully announces a 15-minute break.

Minho steps away from everyone. He rests his hands on his knees as he struggles to catch his breath through rattling teeth.

A few moments later, he is startled out of his skin by a coat being thrown over him; two hot pack pressing against his ears.

Minho leans into that welcome warmth with closed eyes and a sigh… until he hears muffled laughter.

He opens his eyes but there is no one in front of him.

He turns around, searching for the identity of his hot-pack ear-saviour but the person playfully turns along with him.

“Who are you?” Minho shouts, and tries to turn the other way, but to no avail.His shout is only answered by another muffled snigger.

Minho places his hands over the hands holding the hot packs to his ears, and feels them slowly release.

As he turns around once more, he finds Jeongin grinning at him while quickly stuffing his hands back into his pockets to escape from the cold.

An involuntary grin takes over Minho’s face as well - the warmth of it flushing his cheeks.

_That damn rascal._

Shooting passes by smoothly.

It is the end of promotions and out of nowhere, the group are given an entire week’s break.

In a heartbeat, most members decide to travel back home to their families, including Jeongin himself.

However, as he calls his mother to tell her the good news, he doesn’t get the reaction he quite expects.

“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry! We are in China for a holiday at the moment. We didn’t know that you would be getting a week off now!”

Jeongin tries to smile and bid his family a lovely time. But his heart sinks.

The dorm is filled with the excited chatter of his members, as they pack their suit cases and book tickets.

However, Jeongin finds himself unable to partake in that same excitement.

He is sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a glass of plum juice, feeling pathetic and dejected. He hears Hyunjin’s distinct laughter from the rooms and briefly wonders whether he put on a show of packing his suitcase only to stay at the empty dorms for the entire break.

The sound of footsteps attracts Jeongin’s attention and he looks up to find Minho walking into the kitchen.

His hyung takes one curious look at him and Jeongin hopes he doesn’t look too obvious in his glumness. Belatedly, he tries to straighten up and pull the corners of his lips into a half-smile, because the last thing he needs is his hyung’s pity.

Minho gets to the water cooler and pours himself a glass of water. Jeongin hopes that he will leave after that, but much to his dismay, his hyung settles against the counter behind him. 

Jeongin tries to relax his shoulders and takes a tentative sip of his juice… Before nearly spitting it out as his hyung asks:

“Why aren’t you packing?”

Jeongin tries to steel himself and force the liquid down.

It’s a simple question, with an equally simple answer. Yet, Jeongin finds himself overcome by a sudden sense of shame, which renders him unable to turn and face his hyung.

Jeongin takes a deep breath and decides he is too tired to lie.

“My family are away, so I’m not going.”

His cheeks burn at the admission. The sudden, inexplainable shame overtakes him because _there is no one waiting for me back home. I’m the only one who’s all alone._

His hyung doesn’t respond right away and the silence stretches, weighing on Jeongin’s shoulders.

Someone’s laughter resonates through the walls of the dorms and a lump lodges itself in Jeongin’s throat, making it difficult to breathe.

At first, Jeongin barely hears it.

He has to strain to make out the words, wonders whether he misheard, but then his hyung is clearing his throat and repeating it louder:

“Then, come with me.”

Jeongin’s breath hitches.

“To where?”

“To Gimpo. Come with me to Gimpo.”

Jeongin doesn’t know what to do with himself, how to respond.

But it seems that Minho has already made up his mind because now he’s rambling on about how Jeongin’s never been to his hometown before anyways and how he’s really needs to try that one spicy noodle dish that Minho had loved ever since he was a child; and also, Jeongin’s never met Soon-ie, Doong-ie and Dori, which Minho concludes is a catastrophe in and of itself, and now this is the perfect time to rectify that.

Jeongin turns to Minho to see if he is serious.

When he catches sight of his hyung’s tired but encouraging smile, his heart leaps and he runs over to engulf him in the biggest hug he can muster.

The next day, when Jeongin and Minho disembark from the train at Gimpo, Jeongin finds himself letting out a deep sigh of relief. Minho sends him a curious look and bumps their shoulders together.

A silent question.

_Hey, are you okay?_

Jeongin smiles gratefully and nods, familiar with the meaning of his hyung’s gesture.

Minho’s eyes soften a little as he throws an arm around Jeongin.

As they turn, they catch sight of Minho’s father waiting for them on the platform - a similar tired smile resting on his face.

When Jeongin enters Minho’s room, he doesn’t expect to be confronted by a myriad of little things that he associates with his hyung.

Three little cat beds are carefully set up by Minho’s bedside and various cat toys are scattered across the floor. A small dresser with a mirror stands up against the wall, and Jeongin briefly wonders whether Minho used to practice dancing in front of that mirror when he was little.

And finally, in the corner of the room sits a pile of bundles of varying shapes and sizes.

Jeongin feels a smile tug at the corners of his lips.

_What a typically-Minho thing._

“My mother taught me how to tie them.”

Jeongin doesn’t realise his hyung is standing behind him, observing him, and startles a little.

His hyung chuckles at his reaction and hands him a glass of water.

“Make yourself at home, Iyenie. If you are not too tired, we can go have a look around Gimpo for a good place to eat.”

Jeongin nods.

“Food sounds good.”

Minho smiles.

“Then let’s go.”

That evening, Jeongin and Minho settle down in a sea of soft blankets and pillows. The three felines soon discover their whereabouts and comfortably settle down beside them, at various points in the warm duvet.

With the daily stresses of the world seeming so far away, it’s almost feels like time stops existing for a little while.

They stay up until the early hours of the morning: talking, laughing and reminiscing.

In the quiet of the night, Jeongin finds himself whispering all of his insecurities into the warm space between them.

Jeongin admits to having a very hard time with dancing. Recalls the stern looks of their dance teachers as well as his resounding fears of not being able to keep up with the group, not living up to everyone’s expectations.

“Sometimes, I still don’t feel good enough…”

To his surprise, Minho’s eyes soften with understanding.

“I also had a really tough time with dancing at first.” His eyes turn to stare into space. “Dancing was the only thing I was recruited for. The only thing I was supposed to be good at. But I ended up struggling with it so much - it wasn’t a good memory.”

Jeongin leans towards his hyung subconsciously.

“How did you get through it? How did you manage to… hold on?”

Minho flashes a tired smile.

“You just have to stick with it. Believe that you are getting better and that you’ll make it.”

He pauses, then adding with a wink:

“Plus, you have the greatest hyung ever to help you.”

Jeongin chuckles and gives his shoulder a weak push. Nevertheless, a warm comforting feeling settles in his tummy.

Jeongin doesn’t expect it, but Minho opens up as well.

At first, his hyung speaks in short, clipped sentences as if measuring his words, afraid of letting out more than he should.

However, as the seconds tick by and Minho’s shoulders relax more and more, it’s like the dam holding it all back bends.

Bows.

And _breaks_.

Because suddenly his hyung’s vulnerability is coming out uncontrollably, like torrents of water, submerging them both beneath the surface.

Minho clutches the blanket around his shoulders as he voices his fears about how he is perceived; how he tends to come across as stuck-up and odd, which makes it really hard to fit in.

Minho shares how alienated he had felt from the rest of the group at times, how he had struggled to make an effort to bridge the gap between himself and the others.

And Jeongin has noticed that, fully acknowledges it. Because if it wasn’t for his hyung’s easygoing and open personality, he doubts they would have ever gotten this close.

“Severe misunderstandings are what I am most afraid of.” His hyung whispers, eyes distant. “I’m so afraid of someone misunderstanding what I mean and getting hurt.”

As he finishes, Minho is trembling as though all of his coats are stripped off, leaving him naked and bare.

Jeongin realises that despite his hyung’s cold facade, deep inside he is desperate for a place where he can fit in; where he doesn’t have to tip-toe to avoid judgment.

A place where he can simply _belong_.

And as Jeongin takes in his hyung’s faraway gaze, trembling hands and the avalanche of insecurities spilling out from his mouth, he is reminded of that one night in their dorm’s kitchen, where Minho had looked like a lost child in his very own home.

Jeongin takes Minho’s cold hands in his and _squeezes_.

As the warmth from Jeongin’s hands seeps into Minho’s skin bit by bit, he slowly finds himself calming down.

They talk about their existential fears. About whether any of _this_ is going to matter in twenty years’ time.

At one point, Minho comes to pet Soon-ie’s little head, which is resting against his knee.

“The fur around her eyes becomes whiter and whiter every time I see her. I’m so scared that one day, by the time I come back, it’ll be too late and…” He cuts off and swallows. Shakes his head.

Jeongin’s heart tears a little further at the implication behind his words.

“Hyung should probably tell you about the firebugs… Shouldn’t he?”

As Minho finishes speaking, Jeongin sits in stunned silence.

His hyung smiles sadly and takes Jeongin’s hand in his. Promises to take him to where the large chestnut tree _used_ _to grow_.

Soon after, they agree to turn off the lights.

In the quiet darkness, as they clutch onto each other for security, Jeongin comes to another realisation.

That faithful day, when Minho and Jeongin were first being introduced to each other by Chan, Jeongin hasn’t been the only one feeling odd and unsure about himself.

His hyung had also had his own separate set of insecurities bubbling just under the surface of his skin.

The final puzzle-piece clicks.

Jeongin feels oddly… liberated.

That morning, Jeongin wakes up freezing only to find Minho hoarding all of the duvet to himself.

Jeongin is struck at the complete inequality; the _sheer_ injustice of it all.

But then, as he slowly rubs the sleep away from his eyes, a mischievous smirk forms on his face.

He asks himself: _What would Minho do?_

The answer comes quick enough.

It has Jeongin carefully separating the duvet away from Minho’s back, lifting the back of his hyung’s shirt and curling up to place two freezing feet centimetres away from his unsuspecting hyung’s bare back.

Jeongin stifles a laugh. Takes a deep breath in anticipation. Then shouts:

“CLEAR!”

And pushes his freezing feet straight up against Minho’s warm back.

Minho’s reaction has Jeongin in stitches.

“AARGH!” His hyung lets out an undignified scream and jumps about a foot in the air, as if electrocuted.

He then proceeds to crawl around with, hair resembling a haystack, flailing helplessly against the two foot-shaped ice-cubes currently stuck to his back, begging for _someone, anyone to save him from this hell._

Soon-ie, Doong-ie and Dori all come running into the room at the commotion. Minho begs them to avenge him but it transpires they seem content to just sit and watch him suffer, much to Minho’s utter dismay. 

By the time Jeongin decides to show mercy and pull his feet back, he is laughing so hard that tears are streaming down his cheeks. He is making little wheezing sounds that would even amaze their vocal coach.

Minho turns to glare at Jeongin as if the younger just murdered his first born child in front of him.

When Jeongin calms down enough to actually open his eyes, one look at Minho’s expression is enough to send him rolling across the floor with renewed laughter.

After their eventful morning, Minho and Jeongin go in the bathroom to brush their teeth.

As Jeongin catches Minho’s reflection in the mirror, he notices some leftover toothpaste on his hyung’s chin. Without thinking, he drags a thumb across Minho’s chin and wipes it away.

Minho freezes and turns to look at him inquisitively.

Jeongin shakes his head with a chuckle: “I might be the youngest, but you sure are the biggest baby here.”

Minho splutters incredulously.

A few seconds later, as Jeongin is in the midst of brushing his teeth, he feels his hyung drying his cold hands on his pyjama top.

Jeongin chokes on his toothpaste, much to Minho’s amusement.

When they return from their trip, the relentless schedules start back up the very next day.

Except this time, Jeongin notices something between him and Minho has changed.

Jeongin finds himself not running away from Minho’s weirdness anymore.

In fact, Jeongin’s beginning to _reciprocate_ it.

During their latest V-Live, when Minho suddenly turns to Jeongin, locking him with his gaze, Jeongin doesn’t flinch away. He draws closer and closer and nuzzles his head in Minho’s fringe, rubbing their noses together affectionately.

His hyung becomes flustered, cheeks growing red, and draws away from Jeongin immediately, murmuring something about “_kids these days are so odd_” under his breath…

Jeongin pats his shoulder consolingly.

As they grow closer, they end up becoming partners in crime - aka. their members’ worst nightmare. Skz-Talker turns into their playground as they scheme against the members and wreak havoc together.

And Jeongin absolutely lives for Minho’s savagery.

One time, as the members lounge in their waiting room, Jeongin catches sight of Minho’s sly expression from across the room as his hyung eyes Jisung’s sleeping body.

Approximately twenty seconds later, Minho and Jeongin are playing a hilariously dangerous game of Buckaroo, where they each take turns to stick a sticker on poor Jisung’s butt; with the loser being the person who wakes up Jisung first.

Pretty soon, Jisung’s entire butt is covered in white stickers and the sight has Jeongin and Minho losing the plot.

Jeongin is doing particularly poorly, as the entire situation has his shoulders quaking with barely concealed laughter.

Jeongin goes to place a sticker right on the middle of Jisung’s butt-cheek, but his laughter has him inadvertently pressing a little too hard. Minho gasps at the momentary indentation caused by Jeongin’s finger, and then Jisung is opening his eyes and glaring at them in annoyed confusion.

The duo freeze as Jisung brings a hand to his butt and begins peeling off a sticker.

“What the f—“

Right at that moment, Jeongin decides it’s the perfect time for him to skedaddle the heck out of there, leaving Minho with the rather uncomfortable task of explaining the presence of a total of 63 stickers on Jisung’s butt.

As Jeongin sits in the van that evening, with Minho fast asleep beside him, Jeongin wonders whether somewhere along the way, he had ended up becoming just as odd as Minho was.

Yet, Jeongin finds that the thought doesn’t disturb him. Not in the slightest.

Because as the van passes over a bump in the road and Minho’s head rolls to rest on his shoulder - a reassuring weight -it makes Jeongin realise that somewhere along the way, he had completely forgotten the actual meaning of the word ‘odd’.

Jeongin had given up trying to ‘understand’ Minho, to ‘make sense’ of his quirks.

Instead, as Jeongin gazes at the top of his hyung’s head on his shoulder and feels the corners of his lips pull up, he realises that he values and appreciates his hyung just the way he is.

Talented, funny, loyal, honest, carefree… and delightfully different.

And truthfully, Jeongin wouldn’t have him any other way.

It is Saturday evening. One of _their_ Saturday evenings.

Except this time, Jeongin and Minho decide to go all out and actually cook their own meal.

After an entire week’s worth of careful deliberation, the menu for the evening has been set: rolled omelette and spicy Tteok-bokki.

As Jeongin comes to stare at the multitude of ingredients he has laid out on the countertop, he asks himself: “Am I missing anything?”

He hears a deep sigh behind him.

“Yes.”

Jeongin turns around to find Minho hyung shaking his head in disapproval. His heart drops.

“Oh no, what did I miss hyung?”

Minho slowly raises his gaze to look at him seriously.

“The most important ingredient of all. How could you not remember?”

Jeongin’s eyes widen.

“Which one?”

Minho sighs melodramatically and pinches his nose-bridge, as if he finds Jeongin’s cluelessness utterly insufferable.

“…Me.”

… Jeongin’s resulting facepalm echoes throughout their dorm.

That evening, as Minho and Jeongin are laying on the couch together, bellies full of their own good food, TV flickering, Jeongin lets out a content sigh.

Saturday nights with Minho are a healing time for Jeongin - they make facing the next week a little easier. A little less daunting.

And as Minho comes to rest his head on Jeongin’s lap, eyes glued to the TV, Jeongin’s hand automatically comes massage the nape of Minho’s neck.

Saturday nights are Jeongin's favourite.

Saturday nights are _theirs_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOOOOO, guess who hated their writing and felt too self-conscious to post this chapter for an eNTIRE YEAR??
> 
> *raises hand*
> 
> Also, guess who promised not to get all up in their feels, then had a mental breakdown and ended up writing over 14k on JeonginxMinho?
> 
> *raises second hand* 
> 
> i'll be the death of myself
> 
> but in all seriousness, i hope you are all keeping safe and well wherever you are. 
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING!


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